Rusting Gold
by VSP Helix
Summary: Pre-war. In the midst of the Golden Age, Cybertron's glory is without equal, yet perpetual darkness lurks beneath its shining surface. One mech struggles to survive in the forgotten undercity of a prosperous world.
1. Eternal Night

_Do the stars still shine bright..._

 _Somewhere above this eternal night...?_

* * *

"Aargh! Get off!" The Enforcer swung out wildly, fist half-transformed into a blaster when it hit something that made a solid 'oomph'.

The blaster shot seared through sensor-rich plating effortlessly, the bright flare of agony a painful blaze in the icy-cold darkness beneath the Towers. The under-fueled mech crumpled into the shadows, jagged metal plates pulling close to his back as he miserably cowered away from the Enforcer's disdainful gaze. The other alley-mechs paid little attention, though a slow trickle of glowing blue from his wing drew a few hungry glances from the nearest ones.

"These Empties... I swear they're everywhere nowadays." The guard clomped off, grumbling about the four parallel scratches in his previously flawless paint.

Dull rust-red plating shuddered, black claws twitching weakly as the mech huddled against the cold ground. Searing pain lanced through his damaged appendage when he tried to push himself upright. How easy it would be to offline his optics right here, to surrender to the darkness-

- _NO_. He could still get up, could still crawl to safety. He _had_ to do it, or the others would scrap him for parts, instead of the other way around. Survival - that was all that mattered down here. With considerable effort, the mech dragged himself to his pedes, giving the retreating Enforcer's blaster an envious look before he retreated deeper into the shadowy alley.

Energon slowly dripped from the wound on his left dorsal plate - a dented metal trapezoid that had long since lost the ability to carry out its function. He grimaced, grabbing at the wall for support as he frantically shut down pain sensors and rerouted energon flow. Dim red optics flickered tiredly, but he ignored the flashing alerts that warned of critically low fuel levels. He'd already been dangerously low on energon - he would never have risked attacking a well-fueled, armed Enforcer otherwise - but now, with a leaking wound, he was quickly running out of time.

His pede struck something that twitched and moaned. Red optics brightened fractionally as he congratulated the opportune timing of his latest find: the scuffed, but still unmistakably well-cared for, frame of an overcharged city-bot. The bright orange paint was a dead giveaway - even here, at the base of the Towers, where natural light never reached, the bot's striking neon paint job gleamed.

"S-stay away," it pleaded shakily. The bot was very much aware; unfocused optics shone a piercing blue as the ragged mech approached. Once close enough, he desperately tore at the bot's prone frame. Blunt digits - the worn-down remainders of once-razor sharp claws - scrabbled over the shiny plating, searching for the tiny chinks in standard armor that gave access to valuable internal systems.

"N-no-"

The mech's servo closed tiredly around the tiny chamber, weakly crushing inward as the bright blue spark sputtered and died...

 _...as does all light in the endless darkness..._

The bot's weak screams might have attracted another scavenger's attention, but it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered, because there was energon in the deactivated shell - _precious energon_. The mech fell upon the shell, gulping down the processed energon, clumsily angling his under-fueled frame to hide its dull blue glow from passersby. As energy flowed through his systems once more, crimson optics flared, brighter than they had been for vorns. He straightened from the drained bot with a predatory grin, feeling charge flow through long-underpowered weapons systems. Self-repair, finally receiving the power it needed to function at its normal pace, quickly sealed up the leaking gash on one dorsal plate.

He snarled at another mech who dared approach. This was _his_ find, the energon was _his_ to consume, and the parts would be _his_ to sell on the Market. Crouching protectively over his recent kill, he pointed one arm-mounted laser towards the intruder. A high-pitched whine filled the still air as it powered up, causing the other mech to back away with both servos raised. However, he made no move to intercept the other retreating scavenger. His battle computer was still offline, as it had been for nearly a megavorn, and the energon he had just extracted from his victim was far too precious to waste on unnecessary exertions.

The laser powered down to a lower setting once the intruder was far enough away. He scoffed at the other mech's reaction - the lasers on his servos were medical-grade and possessed neither the range nor spread of military-grade photonic weaponry. Nevertheless, the other mech's ignorant fear was his own gain, and he wasted little time returning to his victim's prone frame.

An energy beam lanced from one laser, slicing easily through thin civilian armor. He carved through bright orange plating, carefully peeling the frame open and exposing the valuable internals. The shiny, almost factory-new mechanisms instantly drew his attention. He carefully severed the most valuable components' connections to the rest of the frame with short, precise laser bursts. Those pieces were subspaced, followed by everything else of value that could possibly fit in his pockets. Time was of the essence - the bright orange plating was already starting to grey around the edges, and no buyer would purchase degraded parts.

Other scavengers were starting to gather; the frame was too large for him to carry, so it was best to cut his losses and take what he could before they overwhelmed him through sheer force of numbers. He set out for the buyer's shop on one of the upper levels, subspace loaded with cannibalized parts and fuel levels higher than they had been for vorns.

* * *

It would've been mid-orn by now - Iacon's towers would blaze with golden fire; the great spires of Vos would glow with Hadeen's brilliant glory. However, the crisscrossing roads and towers that extended far above Cybertron's surface cast the Market in a perpetual dusk. The Market was not, by any definition of the term, a market. Rather, it was the criminal hub protected by the local boss, and, as such, the home of all sorts of back-alley deals, shady businesses, and unlawful activities. Unlike the lowest levels, where Enforcers regularly went to practice shooting moving targets or vent their frustration on unfortunate locals, no law-abiding bot dared set foot in the Market. The only Enforcers here were also dealers or buyers.

The dark red mech emerged from the pitch-black shadows of the ground level, frantically lowering his optics' sensitivity when his vision went to static from the blinding intensity of the Market level's diffuse infrared glow. One servo raised, shielding his optics from the excess light, while the other fumbled along the sides of his helm for the chipped edges of a scratched visor that no longer consciously retracted. The light reduced to a more tolerable - yet still uncomfortable - brightness as he made his way to an unassuming doorway guarded by a large tank.

"Yeah? Watcha want, Empty?"

"Is Chopper in?" The mech un-subspaced a severed orange servo. "I got some merch he'll want to look at."

"Is that a- eugh!" The tank peered closer at the mech. "Hey, you're that spare parts creep who was here last decaorn, right? Fancy seeing you again."

The tank called his boss on comms. "Chopper! Your supplier's here, wings and all! Well, maybe not so much with the wings," he chortled, pointedly eyeing the blaster mark on one of the mech's dorsal plates as he opened the door.

 _Wings. Wings are for flying..._

...but the dark red mech hadn't flown since before the beginning of the Golden Age. He resolutely ignored the jab at his frametype, shouldering past the burly guard and swiftly striding down the tunnel towards Chopper's office. No, he might not have actively used his wings, but they were a vital part of his being, and he would go offline before he sold them, no matter how many energon cubes interested customers offered him. To the Market-mechs, they were valuable parts, but, to him, they were priceless relics of what he had once been. The same went for his t-cog - and, really, any part of him. He had no problems harvesting and trading other mechs' parts, but his own were his to keep.

The doors to Chopper's office parted before the mech could knock, revealing four mechs: two enormous guards, Chopper's dark-green-and-gold tetrajet apprentice, and Chopper himself.

"Ah, it's you," he drawled, sipping a glowing cube of refined energon. The scrap-dealing rotary impatiently waved one perfectly-painted servo, signaling one of the guards to drag over a table. "Let's see what you've got this time."

"I got lucky today, Boss," the dark red mech said, emptying his subspace and spreading the multitude of orange parts across the table. "Found some high-class bot just laying in the street. Good quality parts, too - nothing like the rusty components from the last few Empties."

"Hmm," Chopper grunted, waving his apprentice over to inspect the parts. When the dark green flier nodded and returned to his side, he tapped something on a datapad. "Let's see... I'll give you a cube for them."

"A cube each?" The mech's crimson optics widened in shock. "You're too generous-"

"No. A cube for the lot."

"WHAT!?" The mech jerked forwards in an aborted lunge, servos twitching in little strangling motions as he glared at Chopper. "That's highway robbery! These are worth at least ten times as much!"

"No can do, kid. One cube for these parts and you get to keep those wings, or no cubes and my guards scrap you for spare parts." A guard towered menacingly over the mech, clamping a massive servo over his damaged wing. "Take it or leave it."

"But that's- that'll barely get me through the next orn!"

Chopper shrugged. "Not my problem. Business is business, and besides, do you know how difficult it is to sell custom-made parts?"

"Uh..."

"Much more difficult than scrapping a standard Seeker model and selling the parts," he purred, a dark gleam in his optics. The guard's servo tightened on the mech's wing. A second later, Chopper leaned back again, lazily swilling his energon as he stared the dark red mech down. "So consider yourself lucky I'm feeling generous this orn."

"But-"

Chopper's servo casually waved, silencing the mech. "Wise choice. Somebot give this mech his cube and get him out of my sight."

Chopper's apprentice gave the mech a pitying smile as he pushed a glowing cube into his servos. Not for the first time, the mech considered carving Chopper into his component parts, but the guard's impatient grunt returned him to reality. He jerkily subspaced the precious cube, yanked his damaged wing out of the guard's grasp, and marched out of the office.

Far, far above, Hadeen's light blazed above Cybertron, casting the planet into a glittering rainbow of metallic hues.

Back on the ground level, the mech looked at the inky blackness above, wondering if Cybertron still orbited a star. After a time, he retreated, shaking his helm at his foolishness. Star or no star, it mattered little - down here, the night was eternal.

* * *

 _Some units:_  
 _orn - day_  
 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_  
 _vorn - year_  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Like it? Review and stay tuned for more next time!  
~_ _VoidStarFire_


	2. Shadow

_When all hope is gone..._

 _What is left but a shadow without a light...?_

* * *

The dark red mech slumped against a pile of rubble near the street, miserably contemplating his solitary energon cube. He was tempted to just drain the cube now, but then he'd definitely go into stasis the next orn. If he rationed it well and avoided any fights, he could probably last a while longer, but he needed to conserve enough energy to power up his medical-grade laser cutters if he encountered another victim or adversary.

He offlined his optics, considering his options. Perhaps he could create a trap; there were plenty of mechs down here that would risk their sparks for a single cube. Yes, that would work - he would set up the bait and wait for an unwitting mech to fall into his trap. Then, he would bring the parts back to Chopper, and the scrap dealer would have to pay him.

Red optics onlined as heavy footsteps approached the mech's position. A large, blotchy grey six-wheeler emerged from the gloom, casually wandering towards the mech, unusually bright optics searching for nothing in particular.

"Hey there," the newcomer shouted.

The mech shot to his pedes, subspacing the precious cube of fuel as he frantically re-routed power to his lasers. Down here, mechs only approached one another for two reasons: to do business or to kill. Since the dark red mech only bought from and sold to Chopper - however disadvantageous that arrangement could be at times - it was certainly not the former...

"What do you want?"

"I'm a bit lost," came the answer. "Can ya help me find somebot?"

"Nobot here worth finding," the mech cautiously replied, backing away from the advancing grounder. "Nowhere to get lost, nothing to lose."

"Apparently there is." The grounder approached even more, using his bulk to his full advantage. "I heard there was a flier down here who sold a dead city-bot's parts. Know where I can find him?"

"Yes, of course, I'm-" the mech froze, noticing a distinct reddish shape beneath the peeling grey paint on the grounder's arm. _Enforcer._ They only came to ground-level to beat up empties or-

Or contain threats to the city - by any means necessary. He was in serious trouble if the Enforcer suspected him of killing the orange bot. "I-"

"Well?" The six-wheeler stepped closer, looming even more.

"I, aah, wouldn't know anything about that," the mech mumbled, preparing to ignite long-unused thrusters. Crashing into a wall for lack of fuel was preferable to being caught by an Enforcer. There were horror stories. "No, no, nothing at all."

The grounder looked disappointed. He turned away, asking, "do you know who would?"

"No- wait!" An idea struck the mech. He needed energon, and this 'undercover' Enforcer was clearly well-fueled, not to mention dangerous to Chopper's business if he started prying...

"I- I might remember something."

"What is it?" The poorly-disguised Enforcer looked far too interested to bode well for the mech. "Tell me now!"

Yes, killing the Enforcer was definitely the mech's best option for survival, and it would also get him back in Chopper's good graces. Standard military-grade parts were always in high demand by Chopper's clients, and weapons dealers would pay well for the Enforcer's blaster.

"I heard this thing about- ah, no, sorry." The mech lowered his wings and widened his optics piteously, trying to imitate the beggars he had seen in the Market while subtly scanning the Enforcer's thick armor for weaknesses. "I just can't think without energon."

"Fine." The Enforcer drew a half-full cube from subspace. "This info'd better be good."

"It is," the mech assured the Enforcer, congratulating himself on his genius at collecting the energon before starting a fight. Getting things out of a dead mech's subspace was an exercise in patience he neither possessed nor wanted. He pointed down the street. "You see that alley over there?"

"Yes," the Enforcer said, predictably turning to look at the alley.

There! The space between the Enforcer's helm and torso plating was lightly armored, leaving the motor relays in his neck vulnerable. The dark red mech quietly charged his small lasers while the Enforcer was distracted.

"I heard about- oh no! Over there," the mech suddenly yelled, waving his arms.

"What?" The Enforcer spun around, one servo transforming into a blaster. "Whe- aagh!"

The mech activated one arm-mounted laser, aiming for a spot on the Enforcer's exposed neck cabling. A beam of ultra-focused light slashed through the thin metal paneling, burning towards vital components below.

The next instant, the mech was flying through the air, though not by his own doing. He struck a solid wall, crying out as his already damaged wing broke off on impact. He had clearly underestimated the thickness of the Enforcer's military-grade plating.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" The Enforcer loomed over him again, grinning unpleasantly. He tried to back away, clutching the broken metal trapezoid that had recently been a wing, but pain shot through his shoulder every time he moved. "A flier trying to scrap an Enforcer after a flier sold a city-bot's parts? How... coincidental. Looks like I'll be getting a promotion soon."

Drastic action was required. The mech ignited his thrusters a split second before the Enforcer grabbed his pede. He shot away, spiraling uncontrollably through the darkness as long-unused flight systems struggled to compensate for his missing wing while conserving as much fuel as possible.

He finally crashed to the ground, energon coating his shoulder and back while his HUD flashed an ominous warnings of 'Energon at 5%' and 'Stasis Lock Imminent'.

At least he had the extra half-cube of energon.

It was a small consolation.

 _Energon at 3%. Stasis initiated._

Darkness.

* * *

 _Energon at 1%. Stasis interrupted._

Stasis? No, he didn't need stasis! He canceled the alert. Where was he, anyway?

 _Stasis initiating... initiating... error. Stasis protocols overridden._

Why couldn't he fly? He twitched his wings, hissing as searing agony shot through his back and shoulder. He twisted his helm to the side, looking for the source of the pain, and saw- nothing. Where one faded dark red wing should have been, there was nothing but a jagged, faintly glowing bluish stub.

 _A Seeker without a wing... grounded... flightless..._

He twitched again, wincing at the pain, and found himself mesmerized by the slow drip of bright blue emerging from his broken wing. He felt an odd hollow sensation as even more of the precious fuel left the wound, flowing onto his back and pooling on the ground below.

 _Losing energon... so bright... a beacon in the darkness..._

Fascinating. But now he was asymmetrical. He looked down - there was the missing wing, dark red like he remembered it. Once-white - but now smudged greyish - stripes lined the leading and trailing edges. The other end was a jagged mess of glowing blue wires, cables, and plating. However, something was still missing; he looked up, up, up - there was nothing. The sky should have been the pale purple-pink colors of dawn - why was there only darkness above?

 _A jet without a sky... walls closing in... darkness everywhere..._

He needed to fly, but he didn't have enough fuel to power his thrusters. Sensors misfired as panic set in, and he felt a slight tapping sensation along one servo. A scraplet, perhaps? He twitched slightly, trying to shake off the feeling of little claws moving up his arm.

 _Once the scrapper... now the scrap..._

His optical feed chose that moment to glitch, displaying blindingly bright blots of formless color that did nothing to chase away the surrounding shadows.

 _In the end, he was just another Empty... lost in the darkness..._

He'd been built without a name, with nothing but a serial number to call his own, but now he did not have even that luxury. Now, he was just another unnamed mech, one forgotten Empty among thousands-

- _NO._ A long-forgotten flicker of memory resurfaced, accompanied by a fierce determination. He was still online. He could still fight. He'd survived far too long to surrender to fuel deprivation, especially when he still had energon in his subspace.

With his last energy reserves, he retrieved the glowing blue half-cube from the Enforcer and drained it.

 _Energon at 26%. Stasis override terminated._

 _Stasis initiated._

Darkness.

* * *

"Hey, look what I found!"

"Woah. Is that... a Seeker?"

The dark red mech onlined to unfamiliar voices. He lay still, keeping his optics dark and offline as he assessed the situation. He was in an unfamiliar territory. One wing was broken off, the detached part firmly clutched under his frame. His shoulder and back hurt, but self-repair had sealed up the worst of the leaks from his missing appendage. The lack of sensory input from the broken wing was disorienting, but he would manage.

 _Energon at 15%_ , his fuel indicator helpfully supplied.

At least he still had a cube of fuel in his subspace. That would - probably - sustain him for an orn, as long as he avoided additional injuries. Flying was definitely out of the question.

Something gingerly poked his servo. "Sure looks like it."

"Huh. That parts dealer in the Market, what's his name - Chipper? Chopper? He'll probably pay a fine price for such a rare model."

Chopper? The irony of the mech's situation was not lost on him; he, who routinely scrapped and sold other mechs, was now going to be subjected to the same process and kindly 'returned' to his boss. He forcefully muted his vocalizer to avoid crying out in pain as the two four-wheeler scavengers cautiously poked at his frame.

"Let's see what's inside," one said, powering on a sonic knife.

He wasn't deactivated yet. Crimson optics flared online as the dark red mech abandoned his pretense of stasis lock. He rolled sideways, ignoring the agony that flared through his shoulder as the wing stub scraped against the ground, and lashed out with the jagged edge of the broken wingtip in his servos.

The scavenger above him cried out, staggering back as a faint stream of blue trickled from a gash on one servo. The sonic knife fell harmlessly next to the mech, who wasted no time in grabbing the new weapon and rolling to his pedes.

The two grounders warily exchanged a glance before both charged the mech. He dodged a punch from the first, twisted behind the second, and jabbed the unfortunate scavenger in the back with his broken wing. The bot crumpled to the ground with a soft cry, severed motor relays paralyzing everything below his torso.

The remaining scavenger took one look at his fallen comrade and ran for his life, clutching the small blue gash in his servo.

"I hate to do this. Really, I do," the dark red mech muttered as he crouched over the paralyzed scavenger. "But, y'see, Chopper's _my_ boss, and competition's tight enough as is."

"Get away," the scavenger cried, unsuccessfully attempting to scoot away from the mech.

"There's only room for _one_ scrap harvester on the streets, y'know?" One claw, blunted from overuse, approached his victim's visor. "And that's _me._ "

"No! I mean yes! I- I just needed the energon-"

"Don't we all," the dark red mech mused unsympathetically. "You, me, and half of Cybertron."

"Wait, please-"

"Hmm... is that visor diamond?" _Clink, clink._ The mech's own optics widened in surprise. He hadn't expected another Empty to have something so valuable. "It is! Now I _know_ Chopper will pay a pretty price for this."

The sonic blade activated with a high-pitched buzz. He brought it downward, relishing the feeling of power as his victim struggled and pleaded.

Once the scavenger's armor was removed, the mech started carving out useful parts with the sonic knife. He was starting to see why the scavenger had used it; despite the blade's small size and annoying buzz, its cutting capabilities were similar to his medical-grade lasers, but it drew energy from its own power source instead of leeching off his systems. With its help, he easily eviscerated the grounder's frame.

The shiny crystal visor was placed in the dark red mech's subspace, along with the deactivated scavenger's t-cog, fuel pump, optics, engine block, and other valuable internal systems. He also placed his broken wingtip inside. Maybe, if he made his case well enough, he could convince Chopper's apprentice to fix it. The dark green flier was normally quite friendly, and - more importantly - he could be trusted to repair the mech without attempting to steal parts.

The mech stood, storing the sonic knife in an arm compartment as he contemplated his next move. The Enforcer had somehow known about his sale of the orange city-mech's parts. Either Chopper had sold him out, which was quite unlikely, considering Chopper earned more energon dealing parts than an Enforcer would ever pay for information, or somebot had seen him in the Market when he had showed the orange servo to Chopper's guard.

Either way, it was probably best to be more discreet with the next few deliveries. The dark red mech knew how to disappear into the darkness. Despite his status as one of the few fliers beneath a city of grounders, finding one Empty among thousands was all but impossible if said mech actively avoided capture.

He would be just another shadow, invisible in the night.

* * *

 _Some units:  
orn - day_  
 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_  
 _vorn - year_  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Review if you like it! More coming soon!  
~VoidStarFire_


	3. Darkness Falls

_Stars can always fall to darkness..._

 _But can the darkness ever again rise to be a star...?_

* * *

He poked his helm out of the shaft of an old, nonfunctional turbo-lift that had once connected the ground-level to the Market. After a quick sweep of the vicinity to ensure that there were no suspicious Enforcers looking his way, he pulled himself to his pedes. He warily made his way through the crowd, his one remaining wing tucked close to his frame to prevent it from sticking above the crowd and drawing unwanted attention. One flier in a city full of grounders could never be too careful, especially since Seeker parts were highly valued in the scrap market.

The mech avoided open spaces, carefully mingling with crowds as he took the scenic route to Chopper's shop. Enforcers normally overlooked shady business in the Market, but last orn's events meant at least one law-abiding bot lurked among the crowds of common criminals and ambitious entrepreneurs. He was close enough to Chopper's operation that, if the Enforcer from before tracked him to the shop, Chopper's business could be endangered. Then, the mech would lose his only connection to the scrap trade, and he would have no way of getting decent-quality energon.

He scurried past a group of glossy city-bots clustered around a local smuggler, painfully aware of his own scratched paint and constantly low fuel levels. How they could afford to waste precious energon on the dealer's circuit boosters was beyond him. How did they not understand the value of fuel? He was tempted to scrap them and put their energon to better use, but he refrained.

Every mech knew that attacking a smuggler's loyal customers was suicide; the dealers had enough connections in high places to tear down the entire Market searching for a single offender if they so desired. No, the mech would just continue walking, visor and wings angled downwards inconspicuously.

 _One orn, they will get what they deserve..._

...but not this orn. Chopper's shop loomed just around the corner. The dark red mech edged along the wall, frequently stopping and glancing around. He would not make the same careless mistake as he had last time; he would not lead an Enforcer or informant to Chopper's front door.

After a brief pause, he walked up to the door. The large guard from last time was still standing there, though now he appeared to be recharging on his pedes. The mech expertly swiped the guard's key-card from an enormous half-curled servo and let himself into the shop. He was halfway down the entrance tunnel when the tank noticed the card was missing.

"Hey! Come back here, you little-"

The mech turned, tossing the small metal rectangle at the guard. He caught it with a furious snarl that quickly ebbed when he noticed the distinctive shape of the mech's functional wing. Though lopsided, there were few fliers in the Market, and the only two in the immediate vicinity were both authorized to visit Chopper's shop.

"Oh, you. Again." The guard activated his comms, tiredly grumbling, "hey, Chopper? 's me. Supplier's here again... yeah, just went in," before falling back into recharge.

When the mech entered Chopper's office, it was empty save for the rotary's apprentice, who was muttering inaudibly as he organized a large pile of datapads. When the mech scuffed his pede against the floor, the dark green flier jumped slightly.

"Who- oh. Hi... can I help you?"

"Is Chopper here? I have some parts for him," the mech explained.

"No." The dark green flier gave him a wide smile while dragging over a table. "But I can take them! What do you have?"

"Some scavengers tried to scrap me." The mech dumped everything out of his subspace before reclaiming the single cube of energon that had tumbled out with the dead mech's parts. "This is what I got."

"Hmm... diamond visor? Nice, if it weren't cracked... t-cog, good, fuel pump... a bit rusty, but still functional," the green flier mused as he dug through the items. "Red optics... cracked, spark chamber... another for Chopper's set, I guess... a wingtip?" He looked up in confusion. "These are grounder parts. Where did you get a wingtip?"

"That's mine!" The dark red mech, who had been examining Chopper's wall-mounted collection of spark chambers, jolted when his wing was mentioned. He dashed over, grabbing the dented rust-red trapezoid from the other flier's servos. "You can have everything else, but this is mine."

"Oh, ok. I'll give you three cubes for these," the dark green flier responded, poking at a patch of corrosion on one of the parts. Three glowing blue cubes joined the pile on the table. The dark red mech quickly subspaced them as Chopper's apprentice gathered up the dead scavenger's parts.

"One more thing. Could you... do me a favor?" The mech approached the dark green flier with uncharacteristic hesitation, holding out his wingtip and angling his frame slightly to display the broken stub on his back. "Could you help me reattach this? I can't reach it, and I don't have a welder."

"Of course! I'm sure Chopper won't mind. He didn't even notice last time! Just let me finish putting these parts away."

"Thank you," the mech replied, feeling distinctly lopsided as his single whole wing twitched against his back.

* * *

He regarded the dark green flier enviously. They were so alike, and yet so different. They were both Seekers from the same batch with similar frametypes, alt-modes, and even processors. They had been forged for the same purpose: to heal the wounded. Yet the dark red flier's claws were blunted, his paint was scratched, and his wing was broken, while the dark green flier's claws were razor-sharp, his paint shimmered in the dim Market light, and his wings were perfectly-angled displays of aerial perfection.

It was almost funny how one tiny action - daring to defend an injured soldier on some battlefield eons ago - had exiled him into the darkness for countless vorns, all because _medics didn't kill_ \- it wasn't in their programming. Thus, he must be glitched, and no employer would have a 'glitched' field medic when a 'normal' one with the same model and basic skill set could be found just as easily.

One little mistake, and he was condemned to the shadows in a city of grounders, forever barred from an honest career on the surface above. Now all he had were a pair of wings for emergency use only, a battle computer that would not activate, and two impractically tiny laser-cutters that were fortunately well-suited to his only skill set.

Oh yes, it could be worse. Far, far worse. He had his lasers; that was more than most Empties could say for themselves.

"All done," the dark green flier cheerfully announced, gently patting the re-attached wing. "Be sure not to fly for a few orns. After that, you can fly all you want."

The dark red mech nodded, biting down a scoff. Sure, like he would be flying anytime soon. Even if he did, his wing would probably be the least of his concerns. Nevertheless... he flicked both wings, relishing the feeling of symmetry. As oblivious as Chopper's apprentice was, he was definitely a competent medic - especially when it came to repairing hard-to-reach areas that were impossible for the mech to fix on his own.

"Oh, and _do_ try to avoid drinking pre-processed energon," the dark green flier continued with a small shudder of disgust. "Do you have any idea what that stuff does to your self-repair?"

"Yes," the mech muttered, barely managing to mute his vocalizer before he said something he would regret. It wasn't like he just drank it for _fun_ ; he knew full well the potential dangers of consuming pre-processed energon from random street-mechs' systems. He simply decided that, when his only options were to drink pre-processed energon or deactivate from fuel deprivation, he much preferred to stay online by whatever means possible. "Yes, doc, I know."

"Good. Well, in that case, you're all set."

"Hang on a moment," a new voice drawled from behind. Both fliers spun around to find Chopper leaning against the doorway, toying with the assorted surgical tools on one shelf. One enormous guard stood behind him. He looked pointedly at the dark green flier. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What do you mean- _oh_!" Chopper's apprentice looked horrified. "You want me to charge him? But I've never done that before."

"I'm running a business here, not a charity," Chopper announced, turning towards the dark red mech. "Businesses require profits. So, you'll be owing me four cubes."

"Wha- I can't afford _four cubes_ ," the mech cried. He only _had_ four cubes in his subspace! He desperately looked to Chopper's apprentice for help. Oblivious to reality though the green flier might be, the mech much preferred his cheerful naïveté to Chopper's extortion. "Please! I don't- I can't-"

Chopper raised an optic ridge. "Of course you can. Otherwise, you can pay me in another way..." the rotary trailed off, greedy optics flickering over the mech's recently-repaired wing. "One of my loyal customers is interested in buying a few... hard-to-find parts, if you get my meaning."

"...fine." The mech sighed in resignation, unsubspacing the requested cubes. It was unwise to argue with the boss of the only trustworthy medic he knew, especially since that same boss was his only somewhat-reliable source of energon cubes. There was also the slight issue of Chopper's guard, who was at least three times as big as the mech, blocking the only exit. "Thank you for your... _generosity_."

"Yes, yes." Chopper flicked his well-polished rotors impatiently. "Oh, and you owe me twenty-eight more cubes for the other seven times you came here for repairs, plus interest... that's thirty-nine cubes. You have five orns to bring them here or I send my mechs to collect payment."

The burly guard gave an unpleasant chuckle.

"Thirty... nine... cubes...?" That was far more than the mech had ever seen in a single place at any given time, and to have only five orns to get them... the mech glanced at Chopper's apprentice, optics wide and pleading.

"I'm sorry," the dark green flier whispered softly. He made no move to help the mech. "I'm so sorry."

 _Sorry_? He didn't need _sorry_ , he needed energon!

"Doc, please-"

"Don't bother," Chopper drawled, signaling his guard to escort the mech out. "He won't help you. We're done here."

 _Five orns._ When the mech made no motion towards the door, the guard grunted and gave him a rough shove. Pain flashed through his wing as the new welds were strained, but he barely noticed it. He stumbled forward, still stunned, and turned back just in time to see Chopper pat the dark green flier on one glossy wing.

"Now you, my _dear_ apprentice, have some learning to do. For starters, I want you to re-alphabetize all the spare parts in the basement."

The dark red mech would have given anything to be in the dark green flier's place right now. He stumbled out into the market, frantically adjusting his visor to counteract the slight increase in light. Where on Cybertron was he supposed to get _thirty-nine_ cubes of energon when getting _one_ was already difficult?

With a last despairing glance at the shop and the grinning guards near the door, the mech resigned himself to finding Chopper's payment. Yes, thirty-nine cubes sounded like a lot, but panicking would not help him now. He needed to calm down and think about this rationally.

Five orns. That was more than enough time... right?

* * *

 _Some units:  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _I will be following a more regular schedule with future updates. (at least 1 per week, maybe more ;)  
_ _~VoidStarFire_


	4. Crumbling Walls

_Another orn, another victim…_

...or so it would have been, if the mech could find any victims. Right now, he was far too busy contemplating his bleak future to get up and search for one.

The mech sprawled across a heap of scrap metal, but he barely noticed the sharp edges abrading his heavily scratched wings. He had five orns to find thirty-nine cubes or Chopper would send guards to scrap him. The greedy parts dealer had set him up to fail, knowing full well that it was impossible for any Empty to find that many energon cubes in so short a time.

His tanks were not even full enough to last five orns; even if he could find enough cubes, he would have to consume at least a few or drain another mech before the deadline to avoid falling into stasis lock.

Impossible as Chopper's request seemed, the mech also knew he had to try his best. The alternative was certain deactivation, and he still very much liked being online. He was a survivor. One way or another, he would find a way of repaying Chopper. If he failed, it would only be because he had exhausted all other options, not because he simply _gave up_.

The mech wearily pushed himself to his pedes, mentally plotting a course to a new area beneath Iacon. Most Empties around here knew about his harvesting profession and were too cautious to easily scrap. When he appeared, they took one look at his surgical lasers and scurried in every direction, forcing him to chase them as they desperately tried to outpace him.

If he could find a place with slower or less cautious Empties, the energon flowing through their lines would make up for any he burned while traveling.

He walked past poorly maintained roads, heaps of debris and shattered frames that had fallen from the city far above, and the rusting remnants of frames already picked clean by scavengers. At one point, he came across a small cluster of scraplets chewing a hole in the city's foundations. They did not react to his presence, but he backtracked anyway.

One could never be too careful around scraplets.

The mech eventually finally found a promising new area below an unfamiliar section of the city. Empties here sprawled carelessly across the streets or remained far closer to each other than common sense would dictate. One tiny local even waved to him as he passed. He contemplated scrapping it, but decided to search for bigger prey first.

Yes, this was definitely the place - the bots here were so unsuspecting of his true intentions that scrapping them would be easy.

* * *

"Your kind isn't welcome here, Seeker," a hostile four-wheeler spat. "But I bet someone will pay a fine price for those wings after we scrap you."

The dark red mech was surrounded by three rust-covered grounders who paid no heed to the soft whine of his small lasers or the high-pitched buzz of the sonic knife clenched in one servo. The bot who had spoken held the only real weapon - a blaster, most likely stolen from some Enforcer. The other two looked as though they had already been scrapped for parts but somehow survived.

Nevertheless, they advanced, backing him down the alley.

He had to fight them off, but doing so would likely drain his energon levels. On the bright side - if there could ever be a _bright_ side in such absolute darkness - the bot holding the blaster looked like he had never handled a weapon before. Plus, the mech could probably sell it to a weapons dealer for a decent price.

"Get 'im, mechs," growled the one on the left, limping forward. One pede looked partially severed.

The three Empties all attacked, but the dark red mech was ready. Although his standard-issue battle computer was just as offline as it had been for the last few megavorns, its input was unnecessary. Not that it would have helped much anyway; since he had been a medic, the bulk of its functions focused on finding ways to _fix_ bots in chaotic situations rather than _scrap_ them. The few inactive fighting protocols that it did possess were all focused on aerial combat. During the mech's time below Iacon, he had learned the hard way to fight - and survive - servo-to-servo combat with larger, stronger grounders.

It was all about finding the weak points in their armor.

The attackers made plenty of noise while charging, but all the mech had to do was sidestep the first's blaster shot, push another, and slash the third's motor relays with his new sonic knife. His lasers activated while he ducked another shot.

Deep gashes appeared in the two remaining Empties' corroding armor as the dark red mech attempted to terminate them without overly damaging the valuable internal circuitry. There were other scrap dealers around, though none so reliable or wealthy as Chopper; they might be willing to buy the parts.

The mech wasted no time in separating the spark chambers, t-cogs, and other valuable parts from the rusty frames. The gun was unfortunately damaged, but Chopper's apprentice enjoyed side projects. He would gladly fix it if the mech asked - provided, of course, that the mech could find enough energon cubes to return to Chopper's good graces within five orns.

After his recent encounter with the Enforcer, the mech was wary of selling easily recognizable scraps. However, weapons were always in high demand by Iacon's underground fighting rings; the gun would probably be quite valuable to an arena boss. The only issue would be finding one - they spent most of their time overseeing the games, and the gladiatorial arenas were impossible to enter without paying an unreasonably high entrance fee.

Hearing the unmistakable roar of a six-wheeled Enforcer's altmode engine, the mech subspaced as many parts as he could hold, deactivated his lasers and knife, and dove under a pile of scrap metal.

Several tense moments later, the Enforcer had rolled past. The mech waited until he could no longer hear the rumble of the six-wheeler's engine before unburying himself from the heap.

Just as he was about to continue dissecting the three Empties' frames, he spotted two polished dark green wings glinting in the darkness. His red optics widened in shock as he recognized the other bot. Chopper's apprentice had no business walking around here, showing off his shiny wings and perfect paint!

However, he might be carrying some energon...

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

"Wha-" The dark green flier jumped and spun around. He clearly had not been expecting to meet anyone familiar in the lower level.

Sensing the green medic's discomfort, the mech decided to try another strategy.

"Ah, what does it matter." The mech knew Chopper occasionally sent his underlings to scrap Empties with especially valuable frames.

The dark green flier looked relieved at not having to explain himself.

"I've got a great deal for you! These parts for a cube," he shouted, waving a fuel pump at Chopper's apprentice as he unsubspaced a heap of other parts from the three Empties. The mech knew how good a deal that was for the parts dealer's apprentice, but he really needed the energon to pay Chopper.

"What, all this for just a cube? I'm not Chopper, you know. I'll give you three for these."

Three cubes. Great - now he only needed thirty-six more. The mech hoped he could get a good deal for the blaster, or he would never have enough cubes to repay his debt.

"I also found this on one of the Empties. Maybe you could fix it?" He passed the gun to Chopper's apprentice.

"Sure, I'll take a look." The green flier hummed thoughtfully as he turned the weapon over in his servos. "This is the newest model of blaster I've seen down here. I think I saw it earlier on some Enforcer who was snooping around the Market earlier. Wait, don't tell me… you attacked the Enforcer?"

"No, that was another mech." He waved towards the pile of parts. "He's deactivated now."

"I'm glad to see that Enforcer gone. He was threatening to bring a team to crush Chopper's business." The dark red mech felt some hidden glee at Chopper's predicament, but quickly quashed it. If Chopper's business was out, a lot of bots were going to go offline. More importantly, _he_ was going to go offline if Chopper suspected he was in any way related to the sudden appearance of a law-abiding Enforcer in the Market.

The dark green flier suddenly ducked into a corner. "Hide, quick!"

The dark red mech knew something big was coming, but he also knew he was in no state to fight it. He readied his sonic knife. The Enforcer that had passed by earlier was driving around the corner quickly, probably because he had noticed the small group of scavengers stalking him.

There was nowhere to run, so the dark red mech slouched against a wall. He carefully tucked his wings close to keep them out of sight and tried to look as weak and pathetic as possible. He hoped the Enforcer would be stalled for long enough for the dark green flier to repair and use the blaster.

"Another Empty. These things are everywhere here. You! Were you following me?" The Enforcer transformed in an overly showy manner, turning his cruel gaze on the dark red mech slumped at his pedes.

"Pitiful scrap. You couldn't even see me well enough to follow me." The Enforcer lifted a huge pede.

"What? No! I… I need energon!" The mech modulated his voice into a static-laced whine. "EeeeeeeeeEEEeenergooooon?"

The Enforcer put down the pede and grinned menacingly.

"Everyone says that. You think I care?" The Enforcer pulled out a saw and powered it on.

"Eh, no." The mech dropped his pathetic pretense, rising to his pedes when he noticed the green flier step out from behind the corner. "But you _will_ give me that energon."

A blaster bolt sizzled into existence and melted through the Enforcer's torso plating. The large bot collapsed with a resounding crash, a large hole in his thick dorsal armor.

"I- I killed him!" The apprentice sounded faint as he leaned against the wall for support. His blue optics were unusually wide, and his servos were trembling around the blaster.

"Well, yes," the mech agreed, circling the downed frame. "You _did_ just shoot him..."

"But he's really offline... I really killed him."

The mech noticed a flicker of light as the Enforcer tried to reset one optic.

"He's still online," the mech corrected, powering up his lasers. Even though they consumed his own energon, they were far less damaging to internal systems than the blaster. He needed the Enforcer's frame to remain intact enough to fetch a good price on the Market. " _Now_ he's offline."

"A real, live bot," the dark green flier whispered softly, "extinguished. Just like that."

The mech sent his companion an odd look. So the Enforcer was offline... so what? That just meant more parts to sell for energon. Really, it was a good thing for both of them. There was no logical reason for the dark green flier's incomprehensible mumbling; the Enforcer had died quickly and relatively painlessly. Just another collection of scrap waiting to be harvested.

"Yes, yes, I get it, he's offline. Will you shut up already?" He was quickly becoming annoyed at the dark green flier's shocked muttering. Maybe the medic would snap out of it if he had something to do. "Here, help me scan the frame."

The mech crouched over the Enforcer, calculating the best places to cut the thick armor without seriously reducing its value. When his companion stopped mumbling and activated a medical scanner, a sudden thought struck him. Chopper knew he had only one reliable skill set, and the dark green flier's presence here _now,_ so soon after the dealer's get-energon-or-die ultimatum, was far too convenient to be coincidental...

"If you didn't come down here to scrap someone," the mech wondered, focusing suspicious crimson optics on Chopper's apprentice, "why _are_ you here?"

"No reason," the dark green flier replied nonchalantly.

"No, really. Why are you here? A bot like you could go anywhere in Iacon," the mech pointed out. "Why come to the dark-zone? No one here but Empties like me."

"Eh, it's not so bad."

"That's a lie and you know it." The mech instantly froze, consumed by fear. "Did Chopper send you to steal my scrap? Spy on me?"

"Of course n-"

"It all makes sense now! That's what the mumbling was about earlier," the mech cried, pointing an accusing digit at the medic. "You weren't shocked, you were just talking to him on comms!"

"No, no, no! Let me explain," the dark green flier finally cried out. "Yes, I'm here because of Chopper… but not in the way you think."

"Then how?" The mech relaxed slightly, though he was still ready to attack or bolt at any moment.

"Business has been hard lately with the Enforcers snooping around. Just last orn, Chopper went to meet with a wealthy client who wanted Seeker parts. Only problem is, she wanted _two_ sets of Seeker parts right away, and… well… you know Chopper." The dark green flier's wings drooped sadly.

The mech nodded. Yes, he knew Chopper all too well.

"He loves his energon, and I guess he thought it was worth more than an apprentice. When he ordered his guards to grab me, I decided it was time to jet out of there. I took all the energon I could carry and decided to lay low for a while." He absently fiddled with an optic from one of the three deactivated Empties. "Maybe I'll go find a new boss in a few decaorns. Someone who won't try to scrap me for some wealthy customer."

As the mech listened, his crimson optics widened in horror. If Chopper was desperate enough to try to scrap his own apprentice, the mech was definitely doomed. Energon cubes or no, it sounded like Chopper was still going to scrap him.

Both mechs gathered up the rest of the important scraps, only to drop everything and spin around when a loud chuckle boomed behind them.

"Did you really think you could run from us?"

Chopper's guards had them surrounded.

* * *

Some units:  
orn - day  
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
vorn - year  
megavorn - 1,000,000 years

 _Chapter co-written by EnderStar, who doesn't have an account on here... yet.  
Like it? Tell us your thoughts with a review (or five)!  
_~ _VoidStarFire and EnderStar (aka VoidShard)_


	5. Shards of Insanity

_After so long in the darkness…_

 _There is no such thing as life, only survival…_

* * *

The mech onlined sluggishly. Dim optics flooded the small space with a deep reddish glow as he wondered where he was. An irregular thumping permeated the air, causing the surface behind him to vibrate uncomfortably against his battered wings. He twisted, struggling to find a more comfortable position as he scoured his memory banks for any clues about his current predicament. The last thing he remembered was-

 _-Chopper's guards cornering the two fliers in the alleyway._ _They had overpowered the two surprised mechs easily, before... darkness._

This was bad. Very bad. If Chopper's guards had captured him, he was likely trapped in some sort of storage container, ready to be scrapped or sold as 'fresh parts'.

Claustrophobia swept through him as he took in the small dimensions of the space.

Walls pressed inward from the back, both sides, and the front. Airflow within the tiny space was nonexistent.

He needed out, and he needed it now.

His wings twitched in short, panicked bursts as he weakly raised heavy servos to claw at the vibrating surface in front of him.

His servos did not move.

His optical feed flickered with static as he tilted his helm downwards in confusion. A gleaming pair of stasis cuffs encircled his wrists. He struggled again, redirecting more fuel to power his limbs, but it was futile - his arms were numb up to the shoulder joints. He tried to kick out, but, again, his limbs refused to move. An even larger pair of cuffs bound his pedes, blocking his flight systems.

Fighting off his panic, the mech desperately clung to the first escape plan that came to his processor. Using fuel to create a small explosion was risky, but it was a small danger compared to whatever fate Chopper had planned for him. With both his servos and pedes cuffed, his weapons and flight systems were inaccessible. If he stayed still, he was definitely doomed. Any chance of staying online was better than none at all.

He checked fuel levels.

 _Energon at 98%._

The mech froze in disbelief and checked again, just to be sure his fuel indicator was not glitching. Diagnostics assured him that it was not - he was, in fact, better fueled than he had been for countless megavorns. Chopper's customer must really have offered a great price if the greedy parts dealer had bothered to fully refuel the mech.

 _Auto-repair at maximum._

He could only hope that it would be enough to fix the potential damage from destroying the stasis cuffs. He switched off all the pain receptors on his right servo. Rerouting excess energon to the point closest to the stasis cuffs' control circuit, he turned his limb's cooling systems off and allowed the servo to overheat. With any luck, the fuel would reach its flashpoint soon-

The world vanished in light and sound, far brighter and more intense than he could ever remember sensing.

Glowing blue flowed out of the space where his servo should have been. He twitched, staring up at stacks of huge cargo containers that reached the ceiling. His lower half was still partly in the half-destroyed box. He wiggled, trying to clear the ringing noise from his helm.

After a time, he slowly pushed himself off the ground, dazed optics taking in his surroundings. The floor was blue, his arms were blue, and his torso was blue… wait. That must have been a mistake. His paint was dark red.

 _Energon at 71%._

Maybe resting would fix everything.

 _Energon at 64%._

No. He had to get up. Any nearby bot with half a functioning processor would have noticed the explosion - if not the noise, then certainly the flash of light. There was no time to waste.

After he removed the remnants of the stasis cuffs, he quickly redirected energon flow away from his stump and used his remaining servo to pinch the larger fuel lines closed. His claws were too blunt to get at the smaller lines, but self-repair would take care of them.

His servo was still missing.

The mech pulled himself to his pedes, clutching the hastily repaired stump to his torso. Now that he was up, he could see rows and rows of cargo containers stacked to the ceiling in some sort of warehouse. When he had escaped his box, the small explosion had created a dark blast mark on the uniform grey floor of the aisle. The container's metal was warped, causing the stack to lean dangerously; it was fortunate that none of the containers above had fallen.

He cautiously approached the tilting crates near the one he had just escaped, listening for the irritating thumping noise he had heard earlier. He suspected the green medic had been struggling inside another nearby crate. The medic could help him locate and attach a new limb. If that failed, the dark green flier could always lend a servo to those in need - namely, him. They were, after all, the same model.

He approached a box at random. This one was conveniently at optic-level, so he activated the laser on his functional arm and started cutting through the side. Within the cargo box, there seemed to be another, thicker container. He increased power to the laser and began cutting, revealing-

A scraplet!

He leapt back with an alarmed cry as a wave of hungry scraplets poured out of the container. He instantly targeted the nearest ones with his laser, trying to shoot them before they reached him. It seemed hopeless - by the time he managed to offline one, two more had landed on him. He ran away, trailed by a cloud of scraplets as he tried to shoot them out of the air or off his frame.

"What the- ah! Scraplets!" A muted cry came from the other end of the warehouse. The mech risked a glance over his shoulder, only to see the dark green medic tumble, thrashing, out of a half-eaten cargo container as the remaining vermin set upon the vulnerable new metal source. "Help!"

"Busy," the mech shouted back, finding himself besieged by tiny metal eaters that took advantage of his momentary distraction.

"Wait! What about me?"

"Every mech for himself!" The mech resumed his frantic dash away from his hungry pursuers, shooting at the scraplets that managed to reach his frame. Tracks of half-eaten metal and scorch marks from the mech's lasers covered his wings.

Though the aisle behind him was littered with deactivated vermin frames, the ever-shrinking swarm chasing him had yet to be dissuaded from its meal.

He reached the end of the aisle and quickly doubled back, firing blindly until he passed through the swarm again. A few scraplets attached to his frame, but he hastily batted them away with his stump or shot them with his laser.

The dark green flier was just ahead; perhaps he could distract some of the swarm while the mech shot the others.

"No, no- get off! Eat the cuffs, not me," the dark green flier was shouting at his hungry attackers. "The cuffs, not the wings! _Not the wings!_ "

The medic's pleas were ineffective. Scraplets were chewing on everything _but_ the cuffs when the mech - and his accompanying scraplet swarm - dashed by.

The mech cried out, slipping in a puddle of energon - his own energon, from when he had escaped the box. He crashed to the ground next to the green medic, painfully jolting his damaged limb.

The next moment, the entire swarm of scraplets was upon the two fliers. The mech frantically shot or clawed at closer members of the swarm, struggling to focus on killing the attackers while his companion screeched and thrashed.

At long last, one of the scraplets chewed through the green medic's cuffs. Once freed, he quickly pulled a welder from subspace and aggressively slashed at the vermin eating his frame.

"So you have a nervous breakdown after shooting an Enforcer," the mech grumbled to his companion, "but you kill scraplets with no problem?"

"I just _really hate_ them!" The dark green flier's voice went up a few octaves as his motions became increasingly frantic.

"That doesn't make any sen-"

"EEK!" A scraplet had landed on the green medic's helm. "It's got me!"

The mech offlined his audio receptors and continued shooting his own attackers.

"Get it off! AAAAAAAAAH! Melt, scraplets, MELT!" The flier flailed about wildly with the welder, doing more harm to himself, the mech, and the warehouse than the attacking critters.

"Aim for the head," the mech shouted, wondering how the medic could apparently hit every part of the scraplets except the head - they were virtually _all head_.

The medic's thrashing only increased. Glowing gashes in the floor strayed dangerously close to the puddle of spilt energon while scraplets shook off superficial wounds and continued attacking.

The mech tried to scramble away from his apparently insane companion, but it was too late. The green flier's welder struck the puddle of energon on the floor. An explosion rocked the warehouse, destroying most of the scraplets and throwing the two unfortunate mechs across the aisle.

The green medic was first to regain consciousness because all his processors had been running overtime. Needless to say, they had not helped much; he was covered in bite marks and tracks of half-chewed metal.

"AAAAH! SCRAPLETS," he screeched, jabbing a single scraplet with his welder. The small, clearly offline frame rolled around on the floor, but the dark green flier barely noticed in his panicked attempt to kill the already-dead scraplet. His screams only increased in frequency as he noticed more offline scraplet frames thrown by the blast.

None of this was heard by the red mech, who still had his audials offline. He merely looked at the medic, shrugged in confusion at his companion's frantic waving, and turned his attention towards his own frame. His frame was slightly battered from his impromptu flight into a stack of hard crates, and his arm still hurt where the missing servo had been, but there were no other serious wounds. Energon levels were slightly lower than they used to be, but still higher than they had been in vorns.

"What are you doing?" The red mech stood up, watching the other mech. His audials were still offline, but he could hear himself perfectly in his mind.

The still-flailing medic toppled over after realizing all the scraplets were offline. His blue optics widened, and he froze for a moment before frantically pointing down the aisle.

The mech only gave him a confused look.

"What-" Remembering his audials were turned off, the mech quickly turned them back on.

The sound of heavy pedes reverberated through the crates.

"The Boss migh' give us a raise, ya know? We could say them two mechs were tough catchin'."

The mech froze at the deep, unfamiliar voice that was approaching quickly.

"Nah. You saw what happened to the las' mech who asked for a raise."

The pedesteps stopped, but the guards were in full view of the broken crate both fliers had recently been in in. They only needed to turn around to see the two mechs, frozen in fear, surrounded by offline scraplet frames.

"Ey, what happened here?"

Even with his fuel levels as high as they were, there was no way the red mech could fight both fully armored guards. He was just an injured, outdated medic frame with one servo, and his companion had already proven useless in fighting other mechs. He signaled for the other flier to remain silent and stay put.

"Aren't those... scraplet bites?"

Both guards looked slightly nervous, but remained facing the crates.

"I sure hope not. Eh, who cares, as long as we get paid."

Thinking quickly, the red mech remembered how the medic had reacted to dead scraplets. Maybe if he shoved the medic out there, he could make a quick getaway… _and_ lose the apparently useless bot. Chopper might even be happy enough to take him back.

Then again, he did need the other's assistance in repairing his servo. The medic had been fairly competent during past repairs.

Since the dark green flier was still somewhat useful, the mech needed another strategy. He glanced sideways, taking in the severely slashed - and most definitely offline - scraplets surrounding them. If some bots could not tell the difference between online and offline vermin...

He picked a relatively intact frame up and threw it at the two guards, hoping they did not notice the distinct lack of glowing optics or whirring teeth.

"AAAAH! _Scraplet_! I knew we shoulda checked earlier!"

"RUN!"

It took all the red mech's willpower to stop himself from laughing at the terrified guards. Said guards, despite being at least three times larger than the mech, had taken off down the aisle at full speed because of a single tiny offline scraplet.

He shook his helm at the foolishness of bots who dwelt on the higher levels.

* * *

Some units:  
orn - day  
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
vorn - year  
megavorn - 1,000,000 years

 _Thanks for reading! :)  
_ _~The Voids_


	6. Plans Gone Wrong

_What is teamwork but manipulation of the highest order…?_

* * *

"I'm telling ya, there were scraplets! They attacked us," cried the first bot.

"Right, right," a second muttered, well used to his comrade's tall tales. "And Chopper's paying us extra today."

"He is? Great," a third cheered, before peering suspiciously at his companion. "Wait… the Boss'd never do a thing like that!"

"Exactly my point," grumbled the second. "Why on Cybertron would the Boss put _scraplets_ , of all things, in his warehouse?"

"I- I dunno," the first grudgingly admitted, "But I know what we saw."

"Heh, sure. Too much unrefined energon last orn, I'm sure."

"No, seriously, you gotta believe us," the fourth cried excitedly, waving his arms for emphasis, "there were, like, a million of them. They swarmed everywhere!"

The four arguing guards stood at the entrance to Chopper's warehouse.

"A million? Heh, sure." Two of the guards exchanged looks before breaking out in laughter. "A million scraplets. Hahahahaha!"

"I swear, we saw them! Ya gotta believe us!" The other two guards looked distinctly unamused. "We were just inspectin' the boxes, and one of 'em flew right at us!"

"One?" If anything, that made the other two laugh harder. "You ran from _one_ scraplet? Hahaha!"

"Ahahaha! _One_! Oh, this just keeps getting better and better! Hahahahahaha! Losers!"

* * *

Inside the warehouse, two mechs crouched in the shadows near the single exit, deliberating over escape plans.

"Ok, we'll go on three." The dark green medic's blue optics met identical red ones. "Ready?"

The dark red mech looked skeptical. "I still say-"

"Excellent! One, two, three, GO!" The medic dashed out into full view of the warehouse guards.

"-that this is a bad idea. Oh, never mind." The mech promptly facepalmed as startled shouts erupted from around the corner. A loud crashing noise followed as a guard tackled the dark green flier.

"AAH," screamed the medic, "help!"

"Who're you talking to?" One of the guards sounded suspicious.

"N-no one," came the frantic reply. "Just let me g-"

"Ya wouldn't be screamin' for help if nobot was there," another guard growled.

Metal clashed, and the medic cried out. "Ok, ok, just don't hurt me! There's a mech-"

The mech tiptoed back down the aisle, cursing his bad luck. Now the guards knew another intruder was cornered in the warehouse. With the single exit guarded, it was only a matter of time before they found him. If only the medic had listened to him and waited instead of dashing off… he might at least have two functional servos by now.

As the mech snuck away from the guards, his optics landed on a small pile of dead scraplets near the box he had recently escaped. Since throwing a single scraplet frame at the two guards from earlier had made them run, maybe he could scare all four of them off with the help of a few more deactivated vermin. He stealthily picked through the pile, subspacing the ones that seemed more intact.

There was a twisted piece of red metal in one scraplet's toothy maw. After some confused consideration, the mech realized it was one of his missing digits. He subspaced it, along with a few more vermin frames, and quietly made his way back to the entrance.

* * *

The medic's processor had still been running overtime ever since his great escape plan had epically failed. If only the other mech had helped… but, no, the mech had just stood there while he ran into full view of the guards.

"Hey! Hey, come on. I told you what you wanted to know."

"Ah, shut up," one guard growled, striking him again.

"No need for violence," the medic cried out. "You know who I am, I'm Chopper's apprentice!"

"Then why you be lurkin' in his warehouse? I hear Chopper don't need you no more."

"Wha- lemme show you! I know I have something to convince you not to scrap me." The green flier pulled an energon cube out of subspace, hiding his welding torch in his servo.

"Well, maybe something could be worked out, y'see," the guard mused, red optics brightening at the sight of the glowing cube. "Maybe you just got eaten by scraplets or sumthing and I never saw you?"

"Ya got that, right fellas?" he asked, turning to his fellow guards. "We never saw him."

"Yeah, sure, just hurry up, would you? I'm sure them scraplets are still around here somewhere," one replied, optics shifting around nervously.

"I'm glad we could work this out," the green flier said, carefully activating the torch and sticking it to the cube. The explosive fuel would ignite if the cube was shaken too roughly. "Here's your cube."

* * *

The dark red mech reached the entrance, subspace loaded with scraplet frames, only to see his companion offering the guard an energon cube. His optics widened, and he very nearly shouted at the other flier. Energon was far too precious to waste bribing guards! The medic clearly lacked common sense.

With some effort, he refrained from making any noise, instead reaching into subspace and grabbing the first scraplet frame he could find. This one's mouth was wide open, and, when the mech manually rotated its teeth, it made an alarming whirring noise.

"What was that?" One of the guards jumped, swinging his blaster around. "I'm sure I heard something."

The mech chucked the scraplet at the guards. It landed on the nervous one, its sharp teeth hooking onto cracks in the unfortunate guard's armor.

"Wha- SCRAAPLEET!" The guard started running, trying to brush off the offlined scraplet that refused to let go. "Get it off, get it off, AAAAAH!"

"Not again!" His partner was quick to follow. "Let's get outta here!"

Two guards, who were holding the medic and the energon cube, laughed while the others took off. "You are so full of it, mechs. You know there's no scrAPLETS! AAAAAH!"

"RUN!"

The dark red mech threw more scraplet frames at the disbelieving guards.

The guards took off after their coworkers, shoving the medic towards the swarm and dropping the cube…

…the _explosive, torch-rigged_ cube…

For the third time that orn, the mech found himself caught in an energon-based explosion.

* * *

"We swear, we was attacked by scraplets! They musta gotten one of those mechs, 'cause there was a mighty big explosion right after we ran-"

"Ehm." Chopper's optics narrowed. "Ran, did you?"

"As I was saying, ran to handle the scraplets, y'see." The guard hastily added. The other three nodded behind him.

"Oh really? Would you mind telling me," Chopper hissed, optics bright with anger, "what _exactly_ you did to 'fix' the scraplet issue?"

After a long pause, the second guard stepped up.

"We offlined 'em, see?" He held up a dead scraplet, clearly melted by a welder.

"And which of you fine mechs has a welder? Who is to blame for this… unfortunate destruction of my merchandise?"

"T-the scraplets were y-yours…?"

"Well? I'm waiting."

"Uh…" The four guards looked at each other with despair.

"That's what I thought. What'll it be, get fired or have your hopes… crushed?" Chopper grinned and patted the door controls.

The heavy blast doors around his office closed with an ominous clang.

The third guard suddenly spotted a scraplet frame clinging to his companion's back. He swatted it off without a second thought, realizing too late that he had propelled it toward Chopper.

"What's this? You throw an offline scraplet at your boss?" With lightning-fast reactions, the parts dealer batted the scraplet into a pile of discarded metal. "That was your last mistake."

Chopper drew one well-polished sonic blade from his rotary assembly. It powered on with a high-pitched hum as he advanced upon the guard.

"Nonono! I didn't mean it!" The unfortunate bot backed off, servos raised and optics wide. "I didn't know it would go that way, honest!"

Unnoticed to the arguing mechs, the scraplet's optics slowly started glowing and its teeth started whirring. It dug into the scrap pile, self-repair activating as it slowly consumed the metal.

* * *

The red mech onlined with a start. His optical feeds were hazy with static, but he could make out a vague shape near his helm. There was one thick blob attached to five little blobs-

-a servo! Just what he needed!

He reached out with his working limb and grabbed the servo, tugging at it gently - and then roughly - when it refused to move.

"Give… servo… I need it more, anyway," the mech grunted.

"Leggo of my servo… leggo!" The green medic tugged his servo back, onlining. "Ohhh, my helm. What hap-"

"Just give me the servo," the red mech cried, tackling his companion to the floor. " _Mine_."

"What the- OW!" The medic started thrashing as the mech pinned his arm to the ground and tore out a servoful of wires. "Get off!"

"My ser- Agh!" The mech had almost reached the arm's energon lines when a flailing limb struck him. His helm jolted to the side, and his still-blurry optical feeds detected a brightly glowing rectangle.

The door!

He scrambled off the medic, servo forgotten as the dashed towards the unguarded door.

"I'm free," the mech cheered, standing outside the warehouse. "Freeeeeee!"

Passersby gave him odd looks as he did a little victory dance before promptly dropping into stasis. The medic cautiously made his way over to the exit, cradling his wounded arm.

"That was odd," the dark green flier mused, rolling the stasis-locked mech into a side street. Upon examination, he found a large dent on the back of the dark red helm.

"Must have knocked a few wires loose in the explosion."

* * *

Chopper flicked the energon off his blade. All four guards lay upon the floor, groaning from wounds of varying severities along key motor relays. After disdainfully watching one's frantic - and ineffective - crawl towards the closed door, he walked over to the guard.

One perfectly buffed pede landed on the bot's servo. He looked up, optics widening in fear as he met his boss's gaze.

"I'll give you a chance, you hear? One chance. You can stay online, but only if you follow my instructions exactly."

"Yes, yes!" Nodding frantically, the guard tried to pull his servo away. "I'll do anythin'! Anythin' you ask! Please don' offline me!"

"Good, good." Chopper grinned menacingly. His pede pressed down on the guard's servo - not enough to seriously damage the appendage, but enough to cause a great deal of pain.

The guard whimpered.

"Good, you're listening. There's this other boss I need you to hit, see, but he's a tough one. Arena boss. He's got some of the best bots around. The second largest energon store, too. Take him out, and I'll be the richest boss this side of Iacon."

"You can't mean..." The guard's optics widened and the energon drained from his faceplates.

"That's right. Sharpspike."

"Nononono! That… it's almost certain we'll offline!"

"Well, if you don't want to do it, I can certainly deactivate you now. No _almost_." Chopper waved his sonic sword to make the point, gleaming optics regarding the other three mechs.

"Ah, hehe." Laughing nervously at the blade flicking dangerously close to his optics, one of the other guards spoke. "Who said 'we'? It was all his fault! We're loyal guards!"

"Loyal? Hmm… yes. Exactly why you're going to help defeat Sharpspike."

"WHA-"

The gleaming sword raised fractionally.

"I-I mean- thanks, Boss. We 'preciate the chance." The guard recalled all the other mechs Chopper had offlined for arguing with him.

"Excellent." Chopper threw a datapad at the guards. "Read carefully. Those are your individual assignments."

The plan was simple. Sharpspike would be weakest in a few orns due to the upcoming gladiator championships. The guards' little failure had given Chopper the perfect team of assassins to take out his rival, and, if they failed, no bot would ever trace the attack back to him. After all, his warehouse guards rarely, if ever, interacted with the other bosses' underlings.

"Any questions? No? Good."

"W-wait. I can't move. How-?"

Chopper turned away with a soft growl. "If only that medic hadn't been a Seeker… oh, well. You'll just have to wait until self-repair fixes your motor relays."

The door shut behind him, trapping the four unfortunate guards within the office. A slight whirring noise came from a pile of scrap on the side, but it was ignored. The bots had bigger problems to worry about.

" _Great._ Now what?"

The guards exchanged frightened glances, all fearfully pondering the same question.

"D'you think he knows we can't read?"

* * *

 _Some units:  
orn - day_  
 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_  
 _vorn - year_  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for more next week!  
_ ~ _The Voids_


	7. Echoes

_When all else has gone…_

 _Who can tell what last echoes of a fading past may remain…?_

* * *

The green medic could not have imagined being in this situation just a decaorn ago. He had been almost sold by his boss for parts, eaten by scraplets, and now forced to drag a defective medic to safety after the mech had attacked him and nearly ripped his servo off.

The medic carried a small repair kit with him at all times. With the help of a few tools and a lot of luck, he managed to pop out the dent in the red mech's helm and repair the more obvious processor damage. Violent though his companion might be, the mech was also his only chance to get energon cubes from Chopper's plentiful stores.

* * *

 _"He's going down! Flier down! I repeat, flier down!"_

 _"Medic, give B-239 an assist! We'll send backup soon as we can!"_

 _"Doc… they're gonna get me. Don't worry about me! Go save some other bot!"_

 _…Working as fast as possible… sharp, dark red claws stained with glowing blue… removing bits of shrapnel…_

 _"No enemies left. They're in full retreat. You're gonna live."_

 _"No! NO! They're still coming! Fly while you still can!" Weak silver claws clutch a dark red arm. "Save yourself!"_

 _...Grabbing the mech's blaster..._

 _"Whoa, whoa! Careful with that!" The silver frame strains to grab the blaster, weak orange optics meeting determined red. "Are you glitching or what, doc? Put that down before somebot gets hurt!"_

 _...not glitching. Saving a life. I am NOT glitched. Backup is coming! Gotta hold them off, no matter what…_

 _...I'm hit! Left pede-thruster nonfunctional, processor ache…_

 _...It's nothing. Keep defending. Do not go offline. Backup is approaching! Backup..._

 _"Do something, useless mechs! C'mon, help me!"_

 _"Is that… a medic?" Loud voice._

 _"Can't be. Medics don't fight."_

 _"But those are medical insignias."_

 _"What? Oh, poor mech must be glitched."_

 _...Enemy advancing. We are the last... retreat. Still... online. Still online… 12% energon… somebot… dragging..._

 _...Darkness._

The red mech twitched in a somewhat hidden makeshift shelter under Iacon, helm aching after the green medic's operation. The explosions of the past orn had brought back memories not recalled for megavorns.

 _...Being rolled someplace in a berth, tied down…_

 _"Yeah, this is the glitched medic. War's over, so I guess he's gonna get scrapped."_

 _"Isn't it bad for our reputation if we offline that mech? I mean, new customers might not come anymore."_

 _"Don't worry, he won't feel a thing. We could say he ran out of energon or something. Natural causes. Nobot'd care enough to investigate."_

 _"Is the mech awake?"_

 _"Nah, he couldn't go online if his glitched processor depended on it. Oh wait, it does! HAHAHA!"_

 _...What's going on? They think I'm offline, don't they? Why am I still online…_

 _"So, what are we doing again? Remove the processor, fix the frame, and give it away for extra energon?"_

 _"That's the plan. Isn't that right, scrapheap?"_

 _...Knocking on my helm…_

 _"I heard some lab's paying double for glitched processors. Think we should send it there?"_

 _"Nah, they might turn him online and he'd wonder what happened to his frame. We might get caught, and we've been running this business smoothly for over three decavorns."_

 _"You kidding? We're top-of-the-line models. Nobot'd believe a glitched piece of scrap like him over us."_

 _...Time passed. Energon went from 63% to 61% just being idle…_

 _"Hurry up, we don't got all vorn! These repairs are already takin' way too long."_

 _...They're gonna do something to my processor, aren't they..._

 _"Offline or be offlined, I always say. Smile!"_

 _"You know the mech can't hear you, right?"_

 _… I… must… stay… online… I have to get out of here!_

 _...Trying to online optics…_

 _"Woah! I thought you said he wouldn't be online anytime soon!"_

 _"Yeah, why?"_

 _"Thought I saw his optics flicker."_

 _"Eh, probably a trick of the light."_

 _...Static… there… white rectangle. Outside. I must get there. No choice. Must._

 _"This is creeping me out. Hey, let's just hurry up, alright? I'll turn it on."_

 _...Motor protocols still offline... must get limbs to work…_

 _"Alright. I'll see to the next… customer."_

 _…There! Servo moves. Now for the thrusters… I hope my left one isn't damaged too badly..._

 _"Hey! He twitched!"_

 _"Stop being so paranoid! Nobot's caught us for three decavorns. I knew you shouldn't have had that high-grade yesterorn."_

 _"Aw, come on! But it's good for me! Helps my processors run faster."_

 _"Yeah? Sure doesn't help any other bot's processors."_

 _...Other servo working now. Must wait for them to be distracted…_

 _"Go see the other customers. They won't wait forever. I'll handle this."_

 _...Whirr of machinery over my helm..._

 _...No time. Must go now… thrusters igniting…_

 _"Whoa! What's happening? I thought he was offline!"_

 _...Window! Must go..._

 _"AH! Grab him!"_

 _...CRA_ SH…

The dark red mech jolted online with a start. The green medic stood nearby, a sheepish grin on his faceplates as he gathered an untidy heap of tools back into a rusty crate.

"What's going on? Where are we?"

"Careful, careful," warned the medic, rushing over. "I'm no processor expert, but you had a pretty big dent in yours. You should probably stay still for a while."

"Where are we," he repeated.

"Down the street from Chopper's warehouse."

"What? We have to get out of here! They'll folllow-"

"Don't worry, I saw the guards go the other direction. They don't know we're here. They were having a big argument about something on a datapad."

"A datapad? Chopper must treat his mechs well… most down here can't read."

"No, I'm pretty sure they couldn't read. They were looking for somebot to read it to them. I would have offered-"

"WHAT!?"

"-but they'd probably have recognized me, being Chopper's apprentice and all."

"Hn. I suppose you have _some_ sense," the red mech conceded, clutching his helm. "Ow."

"You should get some recharge. I'll wake you if anything happens," the medic assured him. "Trust me."

The red mech looked suspiciously at his companion. Normally, any mech foolish enough to fall offline in the company of a 'trusted friend' onlined with his subspace empty, energon drained, and several vital parts missing… if he onlined at all. However, the medic _had_ repaired him after he collapsed earlier, and nothing vital seemed to be missing.

The medic's wide, honest blue optics and his own aching helm eventually convinced him to recharge. He collapsed on the makeshift berth - more of a scrap pile, really, but the mech had recharged on far worse before - and gradually felt his systems fall into an idle state.

 _...I'm falling! I'm falling! Left pede thruster still nonfunctional. Right pede thruster… online! Deploying wing flaps… not slowing down fast enough! AAAAH!..._

 _...My helm, ow… maybe that mech'll help me?..._

 _"Hey mech, mind lendin' me a servo? I need some directions."_

 _"Well, I was hoping ye could give me a fair bit more than a servo, rather than me givin' ya anythin', if ya get my meanin'..." The heavily scuffed grey bot gives the considerably shinier red mech a hopeful look._

 _"What? I don't understand. I don't have any energon, if that's what you mean."_

 _"Nobot does down here. Nobot but the Bosses, 'specially Chopper. Down here, it's offline or be offlined."_

 _...What's with the saw- oh. I have to fight again? Ah! My processors... I have to delete that code sometime, I can't survive with this hinderance…_

 _"Hey, hey… woah!" The grey bot's optics gain a greedy gleam as the mech's lasers flash online. "Nice."_

 _...Gotta use my lasers… this is just like a medical procedure. I am not offlining anybot. Just… self defense..._

 _...Ow! Processor ache... I'm deleting this code…_

 _...deleting… deleting… deleted! Great, now..._

 _"I know a bot that'll pay a good price for those! Called Chopper. But hey, guess you won't be needin' that info anytime...ever?" The grey bot chuckled eerily. "Finders keepers, ye know?"_

 _...He's walking toward me, raising his saw. This is bad…_

 _"Stay back. I don't want to hurt you, but I will… if I must."_

 _"Yeah right. Yer a medic. Ye couldn't hurt me if yer spark depended on it."_

 _...Self defense. Great, no more annoying protocols. He's a four-wheeler… concentrate. What do I know about four-wheelers? Ah, yes! Their armor is thinner at the joints… a medium-level burst should do the job, if I aim right…_

 _...he's charging! Duck…_

 _"What the- stay still, would ya?"_

 _...Laser pulse to his elbow joint as he passes…_

 _"Ow! Hey, I thought ye medics were supposed ta be all about healin' and stuff." The grey bot looks considerably more afraid than before. "Ye- ye can't hurt me!"_

 _"Yes, yes I can," the red mech replies, faceplates grim. "I'm no medic. Not anymore."_

 _...The grey bot makes another swipe with his saw, but I step to the side. He seems to be moving in slow motion, and his optics are a dimmer shade than normal… my processor helpfully diagnoses him as suffering from energon deprivation..._

 _"Look, mech, maybe we can help each other," the red mech offers, dodging the saw again. He deactivates his lasers. "Let's just talk this out like civilized m-"_

 _"Help? Ye'd help me a lot more if ye'd just stop moving and lemme harvest yer parts already."_

 _"Well, we both need energon-"_

 _"Yeah, and yer my ticket to it." The grey bot throws his saw to the side, instead charging at the red mech._

 _...I'm doomed. Everybot knows grounders are stronger than fliers..._

 _Both mechs crash to the ground, each struggling for the upper servo._

 _...Not going down without a fight. Maybe his energon deprivation will give me an advantage. His blows are hard, but they seem to be falling randomly; I aim my claws between armor plates, tearing out wires I know to be vital…_

 _...Eventually my medical knowledge and higher fuel levels pay off. He puts up an admirable effort, but I manage to slash a few major energon lines. The fuel pouring from his lines glows dimly - likely unrefined energon - and his struggles eventually cease…_

 _...I've offlined a mech in cold energon. I should feel something - some remorse, some ping from my medical programing - but there's nothing. Maybe they were right… maybe I really am glitched…_

 _...It doesn't matter. Now I have to hide this frame before somebot notices… something tells me this Chopper fellow won't be too happy that I offlined his employee…_

The mech gave a soft, mirthless chuckle at his past self's actions. Back then, he had been far too concerned with hiding the offlined grey bot to realize that the locals would not have given a second glance to a frame lying on the street - unless, of course, they intended to scrap it. As a result, he had wasted valuable energon shredding the frame, lost the opportunity to salvage its parts, and passed over a saw that would have been quite useful in orns to come.

 _...Energon at 25%... gotta find some fuel soon…_

 _...No time. Somebot could find the frame. Must dispose of it before anybot realizes the he's offline. Energon levels are low, but I must… keep… cutting. Just one pede and the torso left. I can hide the pieces with other scrap metal if they are small enough…_

 _...All done. Energon at 17%. I never noticed before… those lasers take a lot of power when left on continuously. Now fuel levels are too low to fly… I'm doomed..._

 _...Need the sky…_

 _...Where am I supposed to get energon? Doomed…_

 _...No. Must get up. Must… survive..._

 _"Hiya. Ya look a little down on your luck. Wanna buy some merch?"_

 _"What is it? And what's it do?"_

 _"It'll get you higher than the moons!"_

 _...is that high grade… but cloudy? It looks unsafe..._

 _"Uh… I'll pass."_

 _"Ya sure? Alright. If ya change yer processor, meet me in the Market. Third alley, the stall by Chopper's shop. Ya can't miss it."_

 _...Who is this Chopper, anyway? That mech said he had some energon..._

* * *

 _Some units:  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ megavorn - 1,000,000 years

 _Thanks for reading! Review and tell us your thoughts!  
~The Voids_


	8. A Helping Servo

_If everything disappears but memories..._

 _Why not just accept and continue onward...?_

* * *

 _Repairs: 93% complete. Continuing… continuing..._

 _Unable to continue: right servo missing. Locate new servo immediately._

 _Auto-repair sequence ending._

"Wake up, you're fully repaired. Except for your servo, but I have a couple of ideas that might help."

"AH!" The dark red mech onlined quickly, ready to dodge a crushing pede or blaster shot. After a short, panicked flailing episode, he realized that neither one was forthcoming. He decided to calm down and recalibrate his optics to the bright light. The blurry image of a familiar green frame slowly came into focus.

"Oh, you. What do you want?"

"We have to do something about your servo. It'll be difficult to get energon without two," the medic said, meaningfully glancing at the dark red mech's stump. "I can make you a hook, if you want."

"What? No!" Harvesting parts and surviving were difficult enough with two functional servos. "I'd rather have some other bot's servo than a _hook_."

"I was afraid you might say that. My other idea is a lot more dangerous, but you will probably get an actual servo out of it."

"Do tell," the mech muttered, expecting an equally bad option.

"I know where Chopper keeps some spare parts. He saves them in case his scrap harvesters aren't able to find a customer's parts quickly enough."

"Hmph. We could try that, I suppose." The mech frowned at his companion, then directed his gaze at his severed limb. "But I liked my old servo better."

"I can't build you another from scr-"

"Yours is nearly the same model." He leaned forward, an unnerving gleam in his dim red optics. "Can't you lend me a servo… so to speak?"

"Whoa, whoa!" The medic backed away cautiously, fearing an outburst similar to mech's previous attack. "Look, we'll find one very similar, ok? We can even paint it green if you like. Just- just calm down."

"I am calm." The mech rose, slowly approaching the frightened medic. "I'll put it to far better use than you would, anyway. Which of us can actually offline another mech without having a panic attack? I'll even split any energon I get with you, eighty-twelve, if you give it to me now. Deal?"

"Heh, heh, no. It's my servo. You can't have it." The medic paused for a moment in confusion. "Wait, eighty-twelve? Why's that? What happened to the other eight?"

"Unless you want to completely eviscerate the next mech we find, we're not getting the last few drops."

"Wait, 'next mech'? Who said anything about mechs? Chopper has a bit of energon in his storehouse - _right there_!" The medic was growing desperate now; the mech had almost completely backed him into a corner, and the alley was too narrow to transform into alt-mode or fly away.

The mech paused, evidently distracted from his quest for the medic's servo by the possibility of fresh energon. "He's not that stupid. He'd at least have it rigged so the guards don't steal any."

"He puts trackers on the cubes, but removing them is easy. Only issue is, if you disturb the crates too much, they go off and the warehouse goes into lockdown."

"Hmm…" A calculating look came over the dark red mech. "That much energon, just waiting to be taken. Alright, it's worth a try."

"Great!" The medic grinned, certain he had distracted the mech from stealing his servo. "Now-"

"But I _will_ need another servo. Soon," the mech interrupted, glaring sharply at the medic. "Or I _will_ take yours."

"Perhaps taking a slight detour to Chopper's spare parts section would be in order…?"

* * *

The mechs crept by the current guards, who were too busy arguing about what had happened to the other four to notice two winged shadows slipping into the warehouse.

"Well? I thought you said Chopper's spare parts section was here."

"It is, but Chopper keeps the place locked up and the only ways to unlock it are a cutting torch or the remote. I think the remote is the safer way."

"Chopper would never leave something like that laying around for just anybot to find." The red mech's optics narrowed. "Are you trying to get me offlined sooner by raiding his office?"

"No! That's not it at all! I would never!"

A soft scratching sound caught the medic's attention. His helm swiveled towards the spare parts cubicle. "What's that? It sounded like somebot was scratching the walls inside!"

"I don't think that's a mech..."

A rivet in the metal slowly worked its way around the lock, followed by whirring sounds.

" _Scraplets_? Not again! How?" The medic looked ready to bolt at the slightest sign of the vermin.

"Quiet! Doesn't matter how, now's our chance to check the scrapyard!"

Grudgingly nodding, the green medic pulled out a blowtorch from subspace. "This might take a while anyway. Make sure the guards don't notice me."

The red mech pulled a nearly empty container of energon from subspace and smeared the contents on the walls of the cube. He quickly tossed the cube away from the cubicle.

"Energon," cried one guard, spotting the glowing cube tumbling across the floor. "First one ta reach it gets it!"

The guard took off, followed by two of his comrades.

"Hey! Aren' ya curious who threw tha' cube? We're supposed to guard this!"

"Don't worry, nobody can get through that door! Chopper's th' only one who can open it. 'Sides, I dunno about you, but I haven't had good fuel in a decaorn!"

"I got it! I got it!" The first guard leaped forward and caught the energon cube.

"It's empty! It was a diversion!"

"Oh no. Chopper's gonna be mad."

"Get the mech that threw it!"

"...What mech? Nobot here but us."

"Somebot musta thrown it..."

* * *

The green medic finished melting the lock off. The two mechs were inside before the guards noticed them.

"Eeek! Scraplet!" The green medic pulled back his servo and repeatedly punched the scraplet until it was a pile of scrap.

"You're wasting energon. I could use that servo slightly more efficiently, see?" The red mech skillfully stabbed another scraplet through the optic with one claw. It dropped to the ground, deactivated. "Much faster and quieter."

"Just go find a servo for yourself..."

Looking around, the mech saw a shelf full of servos.

"Why don't we look over there?"

The green mech followed, jumping every time he heard a sound.

"Stop worrying about scraplets. I don't think a lot of them escaped."

"If you say so." The green mech looked at the pile. "This one looks good. Why don't you try i- SCRAPLET!"

The green medic started whacking the servo at a slightly scraplet-shaped ball bearing.

"Oh, not a scraplet..."

"I thought you were here to help me find a servo, not destroy all the spare parts here?"

"Yes, yes. Here, try this one?" He held up a brown and red servo.

"It's hollow. I should know; I collected it."

"This one?" The medic held up one clearly built for a large grounder. "It's green, just like mine."

"Funny. You know I can't use that."

Seeing a box buried in the middle of the parts, he cleared the servos off the top.

"What's this?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen it before, Chopper didn't let me dig through the piles."

"Can you open it?

The green mech looked at it, then picked it up very carefully.

"I don't think it's locked. Scanning it."

"Well?"

"There's a servo. It looks compatible with your model, but a tracker is welded to the first digit. It can't be removed without removing the digit." The medic moved to put the box back, but the red mech stopped him.

"I have a digit, is it possible to use the servo with it?"

"Probably, but you would have to remove the digit in almost exactly the same spot that we found it in. Also, be very gentle; Chopper's trackers alert him if they sense large vibrations."

"Here." Pulling out the digit he had found, the red mech carefully lifted the servo out of the box and placed it on the floor. It was a glittering silvery blue. "Shiny. No wonder it has that tracker. It must have been harvested from a high-class mech."

"Hmm," the medic hummed, inspecting the servo. "I need your laser. My welders aren't good at precision cutting."

"I'll do it. Just tell me where to cut." The laser on the mech's intact arm flared online with a soft hum.

"That segment, there, there, and there." The green medic pointed at the digit's links. A low-power laser beam hit the metal, but it only darkened the paint. The underlying metal remained fully intact.

"It's not working." The red mech turned the power up, and the laser slowly cut through the plating. "Must be a military-grade alloy. Just like my old one."

"Good. Mine aren't, so you won't be taking them anytime soon now that you have this."

"Ha ha. Very funny," the mech said, glancing at the medic's green servo. "That might still be an option if I can't cut through this soon enough. I need energon. I only have 24% and it's going down quickly."

"Here." The green mech pulled a cube out of subspace and gave it to the red mech. "It's my last one. We should get more soon."

"How can you be so sure Chopper didn't move the cubes since you left?" Returning to cutting, the red mech zoomed in on the joint he was slicing.

"Chopper is the richest boss because..."

"Because what?" The red mech was almost finished cutting through a cable.

"He keeps caches of energon cubes in every building he controls. That way, even if some mech tried to rob him, all his other cubes would still be hidden. Plus, he has far more energon than territory. Even if he wanted to move the cubes stored here, he wouldn't have anywhere to put them."

"I suppose that makes sense. But… that can't be the only reason for his wealth. You were his apprentice; you must have noticed something else, right?"

"Well, he also has many rich customers, and, most importantly, he owns a large energon deposit. The _only_ mine on this side of Cybertron."

"Then why isn't he richer?"

"If he controls the supply, he can keep everybot around desperate enough to pay well for it. Also, mining it slowly dissuades hungry mechs from stealing; anybot who tried to rob him would end up with a few cubes while the bulk of his supply remains safe underground, defended by his mining drones."

"Clever."

There was a long pause, during which both fliers watched the glowing point of light as the mech's laser slowly cut through the silver-blue servo.

"Finished. Could you attach the digit now?" The red mech placed his original digit next to the servo.

"Sure thing." The green medic pulled out his welding torch and started fusing the red digit to the servo. His progress was torturously slow. "Hang on, this might take some time."

"Done!" The green medic held up the completed servo.

"Now it just needs some paint... Hey wait, what's this mark?"

The red mech gestured impatiently with his good servo.

"Just attach it, the sooner we can get the energon the better."

The green mech studied the mark before spotting a tiny engraving.  
"'Combat Medic Prototype Servo MK-2'? Wow, I thought the combat medics were decommissioned before the Golden Age. Apparently one of them was glitched and nobot wanted the others to follow. I heard that the mech overrode his medical programming and went berserk! Horrible… how could a medic do such a thing? Poor glitch."

"What?" Looking somewhat surprised, the red mech proclaimed, "I am most certainly not glitched! Ungrateful mechs. I saved that soldier's spark in the final battle against the Quintessons, and what did they do to thank me? They tried to scrap me!"

"W-wait… that was you?" The green medic froze, shocked. "Now it all makes sense! You trying to tear off my servo! Because of you, all those innocent combat medics were fired!"

"I only did my best to save the sparks that were worth saving. Any decent medic would do the same." The mech paused, shifting impatiently. "And you _might_ become of those mechs worth saving if you help me with that servo."

"Wait, _might_?" The medic looked unsure, but eventually his resolve hardened. "I suppose you're the same mech that you were last orn. I'll fix your servo. Hold out your arm."

The medic reactivated his torch, attaching the intricate tensors and motor relays inside before welding up the outside. The metal matched almost seamlessly, though the colors were vastly different.

"Excellent," the red mech said, flexing his new servo. "Now, let's pay Chopper a little… _visit_."

* * *

 _Some units:  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Please write a review if you enjoyed the story!  
_ _~The Voids_


	9. Scorched Path

_If all the world looks away..._

 _It is time to blaze a path into history that can never be forgotten!_

* * *

The two mechs stood outside one of Chopper's energon vaults, a sturdy-looking fortified cylinder built into one wall of the warehouse.

"How do we get in?" The red mech inquired, looking around for some kind of latch or access panel.

"We need the remote first. Chopper's storehouses are nearly indestructible."

"You only tell me about the remote _now_?!" The red mech glared.

"I said so before! Weren't you listening?"

"...Not really. I wanted a servo!"

"Hmph. At least now we know the guards won't be bothering us." The green medic cast a glance back to the entrance, where an unfamiliar mech was offering cubes of cloudy energon to the apparently under-fueled guards. "Yes, we should definitely be safe for a while."

"Hey, I recognize that mech!" The red mech faintly remembered a similar encounter with the dealer. "Er, anyway... there's no such thing as 'safe'. Not here, not anywhere. How else can we get in?"

"We _could_ try to cut through the walls, I suppose, but I doubt we'd get much progress. My torch's power cells are empty, and this alloy looks laser-proof."

"What about my new servo? You did say it's a prototype, so what extra features does it have?"

"How should I know? Just because I can read doesn't mean I know everything, does it?" The medic crossed his arms. "You _were_ a medic, weren't you? Just scan it or something!"

"Fine. Make sure nobody notices me."

 _Scanning right servo._

"Anything useful?"

"Hang on, it's not done yet."

 _Completing in 3… 2… 1…_

 _Complete._

"It's more energon efficient than my old one. And… oh, what's this?! It has a built-in sonic knife!" The dark red mech gave a rare grin, taking his old sonic knife out of an arm compartment. He then transformed his servo into its knife configuration, happily noting its longer blade and almost inaudibly high-pitched hum of activation.

"Wow. Must be for surgery- but is there anything _useful_? We can't cut through the wall with a sonic knife!"

The mech paid him no heed, too busy comparing the knife with his servo's sonic blade. "I guess I won't be needing this much longer. Power's almost dead anyway."

The sonic knife activated with a soft hum as he tossed it backwards.

The medic screeched, jumping out of the way. "Watch where you throw things! That almost hit me!"

"Sumbot say sumthin'?" One guard staggered in, red optics overbright. The sonic blade was lodged in his thick helm armor, but he appeared oblivious.

Both mechs froze, exchanging a glance.

The guard promptly fell flat upon his faceplates.

The two mechs remained silent, utterly stunned.

The sonic blade in the guard's helm ran out of power and dropped to the floor, creating a small clatter as it hit the hard ground.

"Uhm." The dark red mech was the first to break the silence. "I think he had that cloudy energon..."

"Huh." After another, shorter pause, the green medic turned back toward the energon vault. "There must be some way in, some weakness… I just need to find it."

* * *

"We've been here for over half an orn," the mech grumbled. "The more time we waste, the more fuel we burn. Are you even getting any progress?"

"Of course I am," the medic insisted, scanning the same patch of wall for the tenth time. "It's just a matter of finding a weakness in the lock."

"I'm sure." The mech sounded utterly disbelieving.

The medic turned around and grumbled, "it would be _most_ helpful if you just _stopped bothering me_..."

"Yes, yes." The mech walked over to the prone guard. As he inspected the frame, a brilliant idea struck him. "My fuel levels are getting low. I wonder if he's already burned through all the cloudy… energon… in his system."

He transformed his servo into the new sonic blade, preparing to cut into the guard's fuel lines.

"NO!" The green medic ran over and shoved the mech's servo away from the guard's neck. "That is unsafe at best and could get you offlined at worst! I don't know what's in that… that _stuff_ , and don't even _think_ about drinking _pre-processed cloudy energon_!"

The dark red mech frowned. "It was just an idea."

"A dangerous one! Whatever made you want to try that?"

"The guard _is_ just laying there. Even if the dealer's cloudy energon is toxic, my internal filters will probably handle it. I've survived worse before, and we need fuel."

"Just go recharge or something! I'm _trying_ to get us _clean_ energon, remember?"

"Clean, pre-processed, what does it matter? Energon's energon. You're not Chopper's apprentice anymore. We can't afford to be picky about what we get."

"You have medical knowledge, don't you? Pre-processed energon could make you go into stasis, and you don't know what else has been added to make it cloudy."

"If you don't get through the vault soon, we'll be lucky if we get _any_ fuel. I've survived for vorns on pre-processed energon." Granted, the mech had spent a large part of those vorns curled up in agony, waiting for barely functional self-repair to clear his energon filters, but he had _survived_. That was more than other mechs could say for themselves. "Believe me, it's not so bad once you get used to it."

"No! Absolutely not!" The medic looked back at the wall and gave a resigned sigh. "You're right - we _do_ need energon soon, and I'm not getting any progress here. We need to get the remote."

* * *

Anybot who did not know Chopper's terrifying reputation would not have glanced twice at the entrance to his office. The small, nondescript door in the side of a rusty, scraplet-chewed wall was nearly invisible to the amateur optic. However, the mech and the medic - both having served Chopper for megavorns - were anything but inexperienced.

When the two mechs peered around the corner, they found the usual guard staring suspiciously at a faintly greenish cube of energon. The same dealer who had offered Chopper's other guards cloudy energon was futilely attempting to assure him of its potency, but the guard remained unconvinced. As the mechs watched, the guard smashed the cube upon the ground and made a threatening shooing motion towards the dealer.

"Ready?" The dark red mech crouched behind the medic, prepared to run if his plan went wrong.

"Er, ready for what?" The medic sounded understandably confused. "I thought we were just watching and-"

"Go!" The mech shoved his companion into the open. The guard predictably cried out with alarm, but was quickly silenced by a laser blast from the dark red mech.

"I knew him," the medic muttered softly. "He wasn't a bad mech, not compared to some of the other guards."

"Yeah, yeah. Help me with his subspace, alright?" The red mech searched for the guard's manual subspace controls. His claws caught on a small latch. "Ah, here it is."

A pile of empty energon cubes tumbled across the ground. After digging a short time, the red mech spotted the key-card. The two mechs quietly rolled the guard's frame into a nearby rubbish heap and entered the tunnel.

The office itself provided a sharp contrast to the dull, unassuming grey exterior. Sterile white walls almost glowed under powerful floodlights. Piles of gleaming scrap decorated the corners of the office, while polished rows of empty spark chambers were arranged in a geometric pattern over a shimmering crystal desk. It was a room designed to intimidate any customer with Chopper's wealth and power. Wanted ads offering huge prices for Chopper's helm were arrayed across the walls, but no underworld bounty hunter had ever bested Chopper. He knew this well, as each and every poster represented the successful elimination of each Boss who had made the fatal mistake of threatening him.

The two mechs crept through the hall apprehensively. Though they could fight off the guards reasonably well, neither wanted to meet Chopper himself. However, the Boss was surprisingly absent when the mechs dared to venture into his office.

"We're lucky," the medic mused, digits hovering over a nearby datapad. "He must have just left. The screen is still warm."

"Where's the remote?"

The green medic pointed a digit toward the right corner of the desk. "He normally keeps it in the top drawer. I'm not sure when he'll be back, though. We should hurry."

* * *

Four guards huddled together in a dark alley, clustered desperately around an old datapad. After much staring at the datapad, the guard who had, by all outward appearances, barely staved off a near-fatal bout of cosmic rust in his youth, spoke up.

"We gotta get someone to read this for us. Sharpspike's tournament is only two orns away! Anybot here know a mech that can read?"

"Remember that medic, the nice one Chopper had for an apprentice? The one who always fixed us when we got hurt? I think he could read, ya know? Th' Boss always gave him these things," the vaguely navy-blue one reasoned, poking the datapad.

"Well, wha' happened to 'im, then?"

"I heard Chopper tried to scrap him. Repaired too many mechs for free or somethin'," the rusted one said.

"Great. Now who are we supposed to ask?"

"I dunno, but we gotta find somebot soon!"

After quickly discussing how they were going to find a mech that could read, they decided to just ask around. "Nobot could scratch us anyhow, righ'?"

"Righ'." The rust-colored guard nodded in agreement. "We jus' gotta stick together an' find somebot smart."

The four guards looked around, scanning the surroundings for an intelligent-looking mech.

"Look!" The scratched-up guard who had barely escaped with is spark from offline scraplets noticed a one-wheeler with faintly shiny black paint driving down the street. "Let's start with tha' mech. If he's shiny, he's gotta know how to read."

"I'll go ask. You three are as good at being nice as Chopper is at giving us fuel." The dark blue-ish guard rose to his pedes and approached the unicycle.

"Don't come any closer! I know how to use this energon knife!" The unicycle transformed into a small mech with a blade for a servo.

"Woah! Don't worry, we just want somebot that can read! Won't hurt you!" Raising his servos, the blue-ish mech stepped backwards slightly.

"Eh, alright. But it'll cost you! One cube for the read, two for me tellin' you what it says."

"Wha- Why the first, why would ya want to read it and not tell us?"

"Extra energon. You bots better have the two cubes, or you're not getting that read!"

The dark blue mech frowned, but went back to his companions.  
"The mech says he needs two cubes or he's not gonna read it for us. Any ideas?"

"We do… uh… have that cloudy greenish 'merch' that guy gave us, remember?" The fourth spoke up.

"Ey, I got one too!" The rust-covered mech pulled a cube out of subspace. "Wasn't desperate 'nough ta drink it."

"You sure he'll accept them cubes? They don' look right ta me..."

"Just gimme that and I'll ask." Snatching the datapad and the cloudy, greenish cubes, the blue mech stood and walked over to the black one.

"I saw you and your buddies had some energon, hmm?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just read this, alright?"

"Gimme that." The black mech took the datapad and the cubes of cloudy energon, read through the contents of the datapad a few times, and burst out laughing.

"What?"

"Hahaha… haha… I assume you just wasted most of your rations in getting me to read this, because I know most mechs of your frametype can't read. Seeing as I'm getting so much free energon out of this deal, and I'm such a _generous_ citizen, I probably ought to let you know that the instructions are on the next page in _pictures_. Even a newspark could understand. If you didn't know, the way to see the next page is the arrow on the bottom right corner." The black mech looked up. "Wow, you mechs are stupid. Thanks for the energon though, AHAHA!" He dropped the datapad and took off with his new cloudy greenish energon.

"Well, I can understand this fine! Why did we give away energon to figure it out?" The third guard muttered.

"I don't think the energon was safe. I don' think anything cloudy and green is safe."

"Yea, yea… we better get ready to get out of here. No way is this plan gonna work!"

* * *

Some units:  
orn - day  
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
vorn - year  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _A quick word to everyone - VoidStarFire will be on vacation for the next few weeks. Updates during that time, if any, will be sporadic. We make no promises.  
Thank you for reading our story this far!  
_ _~The Voids_


	10. Energon

_If it's hidden away, it must be valuable._

* * *

The guards were still coming up with plans for escape that could not possibly work, mainly because of their rapidly dwindling rations. They were out of options; they had no choice but to go along with the plan or be offlined by a disappointed Chopper.

"He knew we couldn't argue with him! Chopper plans for everything…!" The blueish guard angrily paced across the floor.

"Well, what are we gonna do then? We need 'nergon, an' I can't think of any easy way of gettin' it," the rusty one pointed out.

"What do you think our chances are if we try to get Chopper's energon?" The blue-ish mech dragged himself to his pedes, a faint glow coming back to his optics.

"Well, I figure we can get there someorn he won't be at the door, then bust in and grab stuff?" The third asked.

"Great plan! Brilliant! Now tell me what's gonna happen _when_ Chopper catches us? Because you know he will," the rusty mech growled.

"Well, d'ya think tryin' ta kill Sharpspike is any good either?" The fourth former guard's question silenced the others.

"Eh, good luck with that," the rusty one grunted after a long pause. "I heard he offlined twenty mechs with his bare servos… at once."

"Not to mention all the deathmatches he's fought and won," the blue one added, nodding grimly. "But we need the fuel. Death by Chopper or death by Sharpspike… what do you say, mechs?"

"We're dead anyway. Let's give it a shot." The former guard pulled a cloudy yellow mini-cube out of his subspace and downed it in one gulp. "Mmm. I was saving it for a special occasion, but this seemed as good a time as any."

* * *

While the guards prepared for what they were certain was their last failure related to Chopper, the two fliers in Chopper's office swiftly located his remote and headed to one of the secure vaults. This one was built into the city's foundations. Faint scratches surrounded the lock, commemorating the effort of countless attempts to access the vault - and countless failures.

Before the two mechs reached the lock, the dark red mech pulled his companion behind a broken metal slab.

"Not so fast." The red mech peered around the pile, quietly transforming his servo into its sonic knife configuration. "Are there any alarms? Traps? Hidden guards?"

"Yes." The medic concentrated, recalling the guards' positions from the times he had watched Chopper's security feeds. "One's normally on a ledge above. The other's in a hidden alcove."

"What kind of weapons do they have?"

"I know one has a blaster, but he only uses it at close range. Burns too much energon for precision targeting. The other _might_ have an energon prod, but I've only heard rumors."

"Alright, here's the plan: you go on the other side and toss an empty energon cube. I'll use the remote to open the door. They'll look for the one who threw it, and I can get in the vault safely."

"What!? I don't want to get offlined while you get all the Energon!"

"Do you have a better ide-"

"Ey! We got lucky! Chopper ain't here thisorn or nextorn," a voice interrupted from far behind the two mechs.

Both fliers instantly crouched down, dimming their optics and flattening their frames against the metal slab. The dark red mech's faded plating blended well against the rusty surface, but the green medic's gleaming paint reflected little shimmers of light.

Four guards moved into the red mech's field of vision. He silently edged away from the medic, fully aware that the guards would spot the shiny green plating much sooner than his own dull maroon paint.

"Keep it down, if we get caught we're not gettin' _any_ energon!" The faintly blue guard, who seemed to be in charge of the group, waved at the metal slab without noticing the two fliers hiding in its shadow. "Let's get to cover before we figure out what to do."

"Nah, that thing's hardly big enough to hide two of us, and the guards haven't seen us yet," the brown one said slowly. "Besides, Chopper had a fancy expensive thing with shiny buttons, remember? I think we need it."

"Oh no. I'm not goin' into 'is office, that place is creepy." The rusted one nearly jumped up, but the other three pulled him down. "He'll offline us for sure."

"If ya want ta get caught, I suggest ye don't take us with ye," the brown one grumbled.

"Let's just try to get this energon place, alright? We gotta think of something," the blue one whispered.

"Thinkin's not our strong suit, if ya get my meanin'," the rusty guard pointed out. "But I've got an idea. Jus' play along."

The dark red mech, crouched in the shadows, permitted himself a slow grin. A plan was forming.

* * *

The guards moved toward the energon vault, doing their best to be stealthy. Needless to say, they were failing miserably.

"Who's there?!" The guard stationed above the vault hefted his blaster.

"It's jes' me, remember me? Yer old buddy," the rusty one said with servos raised while the other three fanned out, searching for the hidden guard.

"Jes' you and three other bots, eh? I think you got some explainin' ta do for th' Boss," the guard drawled, unamused by their pitiful attempt to fool him. "Now go 'way before I start shootin'."

"Three othe' bots? Heh… no! No! Jes me," the rusty mech insisted, voice wavering.

"Then who's that?" The guard pointed his blaster at the brown mech.

"Who's tha'? I don' know he was there, honest!" The rusty mech tried to covertly shoo the oblivious brown mech away. When his attempt failed, he slowly backed away from the armed guard.

"Yeah yeah, move along. Wouldn't want to scratch your _shiny_ paint, now would we?" The guard chuckled. "Move along, scrapheap."

The rusty mech jumped behind a convenient slab of metal, turned around to run, and nearly crashed into a sonic blade.

"It's our energon," the dark red mech hissed, threateningly waving his blade at the rusty mech.

"H-hey! I don' wan' ta offline nobody! Don' offline me yet, I got a great plan!" He desperately racked his rusty processor for any ideas. "Ther' can't possibly be 'nough energon there that ye can carry it all, righ'? I could distract the guards!" he said, waving his servos around.

"He's right, you know… we need a diversion." the green medic observed.

"Better him than us," the dark red mech reluctantly agreed. "It's a deal."

Meanwhile, the other three mechs moved toward where they had seen the rusty one disappear.

"We gotta think of something, quick! I can't take down half a guard with no energon."

"Rusty was right. We gotta hide and think." The three former guards rounded the metal slab.

"Hey, wha - where did ye get the other two?" the blue mech asked, cautiously taking in the dark red flier's laser and sonic blade.

"I came up with a great plan! We four go distract them mechs by the 'nrgon, and these two will offline them so we can all have 'nrgon," the rusty mech enthusiastically announced.

"Did we agree to that?" The green flier glanced at the the dark red mech, frowning. "I thought we would _split_ the energon-"

"It's a great plan! Jus' get to it already..." the brown mech interrupted.

"I have to admit, this is probably our best chance of getting the energon. We'll go along with it," the red mech said, also frowning.

The four former guards spread out and ran into the open.

"Jes me again! Remember me?" the rusty one said, grinning. He held up a piece of scrap that looked uncannily like a torso as a shield.

"So, ye want yer paint scratched? We can do that - and more!" The guard above the lock fired a warning shot at the four mechs.

Another guard stepped out from a hidden doorway, twirling a long energon prod.

"Enter the combination! Quickly," the red mech hissed to the medic, silently jumping out from behind the slab.

"Wait, what?" The medic pulled out the remote and started entering numbers at random, panicking slightly at the sound of blaster shots. "I don't know the code!"

"Figure something out!" The dark red mech leapt into the fray, activating his sonic knife.

The medic hastily scanned the remote's keypad for well-worn buttons. Nine of them had scratch marks, so he quickly composed a program that would run through all possible combinations.

"Don't make too much noise, I need to concentrate," the medic hissed.

The medic's plea went unheard. After a short, thruster-assisted jump, the dark red mech landed behind the guard with the blaster and stabbed repeatedly between thick, military-grade armor plates. The unfortunate guard went down with a loud clunk, his blaster falling to the mechs below.

"Attack!" The blue mech caught the falling blaster and charged at the remaining vault guard.

The vault door suddenly popped open. While the vault guard was distracted, the four former guards assaulted him with their claws, fists, and pedes.

"Get off! Argh! Help!"

The guard's armor soon caved under the blows, and his pained cries swiftly quieted as he offlined. The four mechs stood back, feeling varying degrees of satisfaction and horror at their recent bout of violence.

"Chopper can't find the frames," the blue mech finally declared. "C'mon, help me hide them."

* * *

While the four mechs were distracted with pummeling the unfortunate vault guard, the two fliers were busy subspacing as much energon as they could carry.

"Hey, look! It's an energon converter... wonder if it's worth more than a cube to subspace?" The red mech pointed to a yellow and grey cube-ish object.

"Don't bother, those are unsafe. They don't even work with anything except radioactive materials, and that kind of energon would offline you if you had more than a cube an orn of it." the green medic said, moving on to another shelf of energon cubes.

"That's what you said about pre-processed energon, and I'm still online," the dark red mech protested. He thoughtfully examined the contraption. "I'll take it anyway. _Some_ mech's bound to want an alternative energy source, no matter how unhealthy. At the very least, we could sell it for parts."

The red mech subspaced the converter. They swiftly left, but the green flier spotted the guards approaching the vault.

"There's still a lot of energon inside, but trackers are on those cubes… I hope they don't get caught." The medic winced sympathetically, recalling the four mechs' energon-starved appearance.

"Why do you care? We have what we came for. With this much energon-" a hungry gleam came into the red mech's optics. "We could _fly_! Actually fly, not just these short hops!"

"Wait a moment." The medic was unconvinced. "They _helped_ us, don't you remember? They could get caught!"

"You're right." The mech's optics narrowed in sudden realization. "If they get caught it could lead to Chopper learning of- we have to offline them!" He spun around, preparing to attack, but the medic stopped him.

"No! No, that's not what I meant! Do you offline everyone who helps you?"

"Uh, yes. I find it to be safer when there's nobody _trustworthy_ to stab me in the back. Every mech I trusted - even the ones I helped - turned on me." A shadow fell across his features as he gave a mirthless chuckle. "I've learned a valuable lesson since: scrap them before they scrap me."

"How could you say such a thing? We're medics! We're meant to _help_ mechs, not scrap them!"

"Those medical restrictions were only going to get me scrapped. I did what was necessary to survive; I offlined them before they offlined me. Any other mech would have done the same."

"But… we have to help! We're medics!"

"See how long that attitude lasts when the mechs you try to help repay you with a fist to the helm," the red mech grunted. "Speaking of which, I'd say it's time to leave. Our 'friends' are back."

The two fliers glanced at each other, argument momentarily forgotten, before dashing away from the four former guards as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Ah!" The blue mech yelped and jumped backwards, not expecting two dark streaks - one red and one green - to race past. "What the-"

"Hey, where did th' two mechs go?" The rusty guard looked around the vault, optics hungrily measuring the glow of energon.

"They left, an' with all the 'nergon they could carry," the brown guard observed, inspecting an empty shelf. He soon moved on, spotting a pile of triangular metallic pieces. "What d'ya figure these things are?"

"I don't know, but I see 'em under every cube here except those empty ones," the blue mech observed, carefully poking the triangle attached to a bright blue cube. "Maybe we should leave them alone."

"Well, let's just pour the 'nrgon from the li'l cubes into the bigger ones an' take it, 'cause I don't have anythin' that would take them triangles off." The rusty mech immediately demonstrated his idea. When he was finished, a bit of energon was left in a smaller cube. He quickly drained it, optics brightening in surprise at the good quality. "Whoa, strong stuff!"

"Cheers! Good energon, at last!" The brown mech raised a near-white cube.

"Figure there's enough for all of us?" The blue mech claimed a deep cerulean cube and consumed it.

"Of course! Let's get to collecting this energon!"

The four mechs continued pouring the energon into larger cubes and subspacing their prizes.

* * *

Back in his office, Chopper's gleaming rotor-blade slashed through his security console. The live feed of his looted vault flickered out and died as the screen shattered.

"You've just crossed me for the last time, _Seeker_."

* * *

 _Some units:  
orn - day_  
 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_  
 _vorn - year_  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Sorry for the long gap between updates! We hope you continue to read and enjoy our story! Updates from now on will (probably) be more regular. Also, don't be afraid to post a review and share your thoughts! We appreciate all comments/feedback/etc!  
_ _~The Voids_


	11. Shady Deals

_Mechs would pay anything, any price…_

 _Just to survive in the shadows._

* * *

"Halt!" A squad of enforcers stepped out of the shadows and circled around the two fliers with blasters raised. "Servos in the air."

After the mechs were surrounded, the leader pulled out a tablet from subspace.

"You…" The enforcer trailed off, unsure of how to address the dark red mech. "You on the right, you are wanted for the offlining of a city-mech and for crossing our _most wealthy_ employer."

"Who, us? I think there's been a misunderstanding," the green flier said, his voice unusually steady. "Let's talk this through calmly, ok?"

One enforcer looked ready to accept the medic's offer, but the leader stopped him before he could speak.

"The Chief warned us of your tricks," the enforcer hissed at the medic. "He said to tell you that _you_ are also wanted, and that he is gaining 20% interest per orn on your _loaned_ energon."

The red mech suddenly noticed an encrypted signal pinged along his rarely-used comm frequency. After an initial moment of surprise, he decoded it.

" _Here's my idea,"_ the medic's voice whispered in his comm unit. _"We fly to the overpass on your left, then we try to escape. I checked; we have more than enough fuel to spare."_

 _"Worth a try,"_ the dark red mech replied. He casually crouched, preparing to activate flight systems. One enforcer looked at him suspiciously before returning his attention to the chattering medic.

"Wait, wait," the medic continued. "There's no need for thre- GO!"

The medic launched off the ground, easily gliding over to the overpass. The dark red mech followed closely, haphazardly dodging blaster shots as he tried to calibrate recently activated flight sensors. Both fliers landed on the crumbling bridge.

"What next? You better have a plan soon, or they'll shoot us!" The red mech crouched down behind the ancient, rusted-over frame of a deactivated four-wheeler.

"I, uh-"

Both mechs flinched as blaster fire caused the bridge to creak ominously.

"Um, this is about as far as my plan went. You?"

"If we can go down a few levels, I know of a mech who might be willing to protect us for a few orns... for a price, of course."

"Down? But, the only mechs below the surface are- oh." The medic abruptly looked wary. "I have a bad feeling about this. Who's this mech?"

"You've probably heard of him. He's a gladiator boss, controls a bunch of the rings below the city. Doesn't interact much with the surface. Calls himself Sharpspike. Rumor has it that he'll take in anybot willing to work for him or fight in his arenas." The dark red mech declined to mention that most of the bots who ventured into Sharpspike's domain were never heard from again.

" _Sharpspike!?_ Chopper was always grumbling about that mech as his only real rival. He constantly talked about capturing the mech's energon store, but he never tried anything."

"We have to go." The dark red mech had finished calculating the fastest route to the arenas. "Are you coming?"

"I..." The medic looked hesitant, but he finally dipped his helm. "I suppose. I know some of Chopper's plans that Sharpspike might like."

* * *

"Arenamaster Sharpspike," a deep voice called out. The speaker, a blocky grey tank-former with heavily scarred armor, slowly limped towards a training ring where an enormous silver mech was fighting off three smaller opponents. Brilliant white floodlights gleamed harshly off the four fighters' garish armor plates.

"What do you want?" Despite his conversation, the huge silver mech's optics never strayed from his opponents' movements. He swung his mace at a orange mech, who dodged too late and lost half of an arm. "This better be important."

"You have two… _guests_. One resembles Chopper's pet medic. The other looks like an Empty. Both are fliers."

"So?" Sharpspike effortlessly tossed an unfortunate cyan mech across the ring. The mech cried out sharply as his frame dented a wall before sliding to the ground. "Can they fight?"

"Seems like it."

"Good enough. Send 'em in-" the silver mech punched a deep purple opponent, sending him to the ground in a whimpering heap. "If they're any good, schedule 'em for a match next orn."

"Uh, sir," the grey tank interrupted, "I'm scheduled to fight Stormclaw next orn-"

"Cancel it." Sharpspike charged at his last opponent with a roar. The smaller mech wisely took advantage of his smaller size and dove out of the way, clutching his wounded arm. "Crowd'll pay extra to see fliers."

"Yessir," the tank acknowledged, turning and limping away.

"One more thing," Sharpspike shouted. His final opponent was sprawled across the ground, jerkily trying to drag himself away from the arena master. Bright energon trickled from one severed limb, but the mech desperately continued his futile struggle.

The grey tank halted in his tracks, turning his helm slightly towards his huge silver boss.

"Call a medic, will you?" Sharpspike roughly prodded the struggling orange mech at his pedes. "This one has _potential_. I want him in the match next orn."

* * *

"Sir." The grey tank reappeared, followed by the two fliers. The dark red mech immediately shielded his optics from the bright lights, dark visor snapping into place.

Sharpspike approached, looming over the three mechs. "Where's the medic?"

"Ours was busy," the tank rumbled, "but the green one's probably good for something, if he worked for Chopper."

"I see," Sharpspike muttered. "Get to work. Fix Orange first. Now you, on the other servo-"

The dark red mech squinted at Sharpspike through his visor, unused to the harsh lighting.

"Why are you here? It's rare to find fliers in Iacon, much less underground."

"We seek asylum from Chopper. He-" the dark red mech pointed at the green medic "-has intelligence on Chopper's plans and supplies."

Sharpspike's optic ridges rose at this.

"Chopper's plans? Those could be useful. Unfortunately, I don't run a charity. One mech can't pay for another, as I always say." Sharpspike's cruel yellow optics focused upon the dark red flier, expertly assessing every movement. "What use are _you_ to _me_?"

"I know how to take a mech apart," the flier replied, after a short pause. "I'll fight in exchange for shelter and energon."

"Very well," the silver gladiator replied, pleased. "Let's spar. If you can stay on your pedes for a breem, you can fight in the next match."

The dark red flier warily stepped into the ring.

"The rules are simple. You just have to stay online for a breem." Sharpspike pulled out his mace and twirled it expertly.

"Wait a moment," the medic cried out from where he was repairing the orange mech. "What if he loses?"

"We'll deal with that _when_ it happens," Sharpspike assured him. The massive gladiator slowly advanced, looming impressively over the smaller flier despite the distance between the two mechs.

The dark red mech refused to quail before Sharpspike's menacing approach. His practiced optics scanned over Sharpspike's enormous frame, comparing it to those of other war-builds he had encountered and dismantled. His processor helpfully augmented his optical feed with a predicted map of weak points, motor relays, cost analysis-

The mech deactivated the program, shaking his helm ever so slightly. He needed to focus on fighting Sharpspike, not selling his parts. Besides, it seemed that most of the arenamaster's wiring and energon lines were protected by thick sheets of near-impenetrable armor.

The gladiator grinned triumphantly, interpreting the mech's stillness as fear, not the silent calculation it truly signified.

 _One breem_ , the dark red flier reminded himself, _I don't need to deactivate him, just stay online for one breem._

His lasers activated with a soft hum. The damaged one on his right arm rapidly began to overheat, but he swiftly corrected his mistake by cutting power to it and transforming his right servo into the sonic blade in one smooth motion.

Sharpspike's trained optics instantly spied the mech's nonfunctional laser, categorizing it as a weakness. He charged the flier with a mighty roar, swinging out his mace.

The dark red mech barely avoided being flattened as he dove sideways. After hastily checking that he still had plenty of fuel, he activated his flight systems. He launched himself upward to escape another blow, twisting in midair to avoid scraping his wings against the low ceiling.

"HEY!," Sharpspike roared. "Get down here and _fight like a mech_!"

"You said no rules," the mech replied, alighting on the other side of the ring. "I'm still onlin- ACK!"

A dark crater marked the spot where the mech had stood just moments before.

Sharpspike grunted in satisfaction as a cloud of thick, dark smoke wafted up from the crater.

The mech picked himself up. It seemed that the blast had reactivated his scavenging protocols. His processor helpfully placed the cost of the cannon at 12 energon cubes. It was rare to even get a tenth of that from any one part.

 _...Focus! Just 183 nanokliks... now 182..._

While Sharpspike's cannon charged up for another devastating blast, the mech decided to go on the offensive. He reactivated his primary thrusters and shot towards the mace-wielding silver gladiator. At the last moment, he fired long-dormant secondary thrusters, located in his wings, and twisted to the side. His laser slashed along Sharpspike's side, doing little to the thick armor aside from darkening the paint, but he had accomplished his goal.

Sharpspike looked faintly surprised that the dark red mech managed to get past his guard. The short burst of light would have cut through his t-cog if the flier's lasers were more powerful or his own armor was thinner; the mech's choice of targets spoke of either great experience or blind luck.

"Time," the gladiator boss called out, startling the dark red mech with his sudden announcement.

"What? But I have twenty one nanokliks left-"

"Congratulations, you passed," Sharpspike rumbled, returning his weapons to subspace. He headed out of the ring, beckoning the dark red mech to follow him. "You're either incredibly lucky or very skillful… for an Empty, of course. But next orn is the real test. Greyspring!"

"Sir!" The grey tank, who had previously been watching the medic's progress in reattaching the orange fighter's arm, instantly snapped to attention.

"Prepare this mech for the fights. Weapons, paint, everything. You know the drill."

"Yessir," Greyspring rumbled. "Right this way, uh… what did you say your designation was?"

"I didn't," the dark red mech replied tersely, ignoring the worried glance the medic shot his way.

* * *

Greyspring heaved the cover off a case of slightly battered - but still functional - weaponry and placed it to the side. "See anything you can use?"

"Is there anything better I can use? These weapons are...uh-"

The mech carefully lifted an energon saw, wincing when the energy pack fell out the side.

"Sorry, no can do. Boss gives better weapons to the mechs who win a couple matches. You gotta use these or anything you've got with you."

"I think I'll just use my- wait… is that a…?" The mech spied the faintly corroded - but still unmistakable - form of an ancient laser pulse rifle. It was the very same model that he had once wielded in the final battles of the Quintesson War, before-

"Hey, you got a designation? Crowd's gotta have someone ta cheer for, ya know?"

Greyspring's question interrupted the mech's train of thought. He shook his helm, clearing the memories from his processor. It did not do to dwell on the past when the present situation was far more urgent.

"Not one anymech would cheer for." The mech vaguely remembered his numeric designation, but he knew that to survive he would have to become a crowd favorite. A number would not do.

"Well, let's just figure that out later. You look like you've been through the Sea of Rust and back! Let's get you some paint. And get a weapon already. We can't be standin' here all orn."

The dark red mech pulled the laser pulse rifle out of the weapon crate.

"Heh, that's some ancient tech. I reckon it'd work better than everythin' else though, because nomech wants an outdated weapon."

"You said I need paint." The dark red mech's abrupt change of topic left no room for argument.

Greyspring, sensing the mech's sudden hostility, led the way to a storeroom.

"What kinda paints do ya want? I'm thinkin' you would look good in a bright yellow and orange coat, or maybe a-"

"Just keep my original colors."

"Ya sure? Your colors are kinda… drab… if ya get my meaning?"

"Just put the same color scheme."

"Fine, fine." Greyspring walked to a console and started inputting colors and schematics.

"Just step in. Put your servos and pedes on the glowing areas. You might want to shutter your optics. We haven't got the latest tech on these yet."

Paint stripper shot from the walls, followed by a colorful spray. The mech was tempted to open his optics and watch as his colors were reapplied, but he wisely decided to heed Greyspring's warning.

The formerly dull red mech stepped out of the paint machine when it paused momentarily.

"Hey! Woah woah woah! It's not done yet! Ah, too late."

Looking down at himself, the red mech could see a few spots that had been missed, but overall the new paint was a richer red, with black highlights. It was far better than he could ever remember having-

Then he glanced down. To his dismay, the servo he had _borrowed_ from Chopper's spare parts vault was, if anything, even bluer than before.

"Well, you can't go back in. The boss doesn't want us wasting paint."

"It's fine, there are only a few gray spots, but... why the _blue servo!?_ "

"Ya said to go with your old color scheme, so I told the machine to just touch up whatever you had… mind, I had to enhance the colors quite a bit!" Greyspring looked quite proud, and he clearly believed the mech should also be impressed by his 'skill' in using the paint machine.

"It'll do," the mech finally replied. He wished he had remembered to tell Greyspring that his servo was not originally _blue_ \- really, he would have been happier if it were _any color but blue_ \- but he supposed that it was tolerable.

"Alright then. Quarters are this way," Greyspring informed the mech. "You're fightin' next orn, so I suggest you get some recharge."

* * *

 _Some units:  
nanoklik - second_  
 _breem - minute_  
 _joor - hour_  
 _orn - day_  
 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_  
 _vorn - year_  
 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Sorry for not posting sooner, but the chapter's a bit longer this time. Also, stay tuned! More coming on Saturday! :)_  
 _~The Voids_


	12. Collision Course

_Some things, once set in motion…_

 _Can never again be stopped._

* * *

"Introducing… the one, the only… ORANGEHELM!"

The crowd's screaming kicked up to audial-splitting decibels. The dark red mech seriously contemplated offlining his audio receptors, though such an action would likely give him a disadvantage in the coming match.

"And now the competitor..."

Dull grey doors slid open with a barely audible screech. The red mech stepped out into the harshly-lit stadium, freshly-oiled black visor snapping into place. His searching gaze landed upon his competitor, the offensively orange mech Sharpspike had been fighting last orn, who was clutching a short energon sword as though his spark depended upon it.

"Introducing… BLUESERVO!"

 _Blueservo?!_ The mech very nearly shot the announcer with his new pulse rifle. He had certainly known that they were going to make up an easy-to-remember designation because he only had a serial number, but… _Blueservo_? Surely they could have come up with a more creative designation?

"The rules are simple! First mech to damage the other wins! Don't forget to place your bets right this way!"

The announcer stood, lifting a servo. After a nanoklik, he brought the servo down to hit a buzzer.

"Aaaaaand… BEGIN!"

The two mechs crouched down, each assessing the other's motions. The red mech scanned his opponent's frame for exposed wires or thin plates that would cave in easily. After a few nanokliks of scanning, he started to hear some discontented muttering in the crowd.

"Fight already," one mech shouted from the stands.

"Fight, fight, fight!" The crowd picked up the chant. "FIGHT!"

Orangehelm looked terrified, but he took a step forward. The chanting became even louder, and the red mech knew he had to act before he became hated by the crowd. He lined up the pulse rifle, powered it up to maximum, and shot.

"AAAaand they're fighting!" The announcer turned his speaker up to maximum volume. It was deafening, but the mech ignored the pain stabbing through his audio receptors. He would likely have to get them fixed after the match anyway.

Whether through extraordinary skill or plain luck, a surprised-looking Orangehelm managed to deflect the red mech's laser pulse with his energon sword.

"An incredible block by Orangehelm," the announcer overenthusiastically commented. "It would have been a pity to see the match end so quickly, anyway!"

The red mech charged while his opponent was still distracted, transforming his servo into a sonic blade. Orangehelm swung the sword again, but this time its arc was slightly more predictable. The mech managed to step aside just in time.

"OOH! A close dodge by Blueservo! Let's hear some noise!" The announcer's audio receptors were clearly offline, or he would have noticed the crowd's already deafening screams. "Throw those energon cubes, if you please!"

Small flashes of light lit up the arena as wealthy audience members cheered and tossed volatile mini-cubes at the floor. The red flier experienced a brief moment of horror and disgust at the way noble mechs were so blatantly wasting precious energon, but a glowing streak in the corner of his vision drew his attention back to the match.

The red mech easily dove under the sword again and shoved Orangehelm back with a well-placed pede to the torso. He knew such a move was dangerous because, in addition to putting his pede within range of the other's energon blade, it could not damage the other mech very much. However, the crowd roared with glee as the close-range combat began.

Knowing that the energon sword was still a threat, the red mech twisted under Orangehelm's guard and severed the sword's power lines with his sonic knife. A sharp jolt of electricity went through his servo as the blade closed a circuit between two wires, but the pain was well worth it as Orangehelm's sword shorted out with a flash of sparks and a puff of smoke.

With the energon sword's 'energon' function disabled, the orange mech was left waving a rather useless piece of rusty grey metal.

"Check it out! Orangehelm hasn't got a weapon anymore. But it looks like Blueservo wants to take the fight to him instead of using his ancient rifle! If you want assured protection, never bring outdated tech with you. SyberNied Weapons is proud to sell the latest and greatest weaponry to mechs like you!" The announcer reasoned that he might as well get a bonus for promoting the boss's favorite weapons smuggling corporation.

The red mech swung a pede at Orangehelm's legs, then quickly smashed down on his helm with a clenched servo. Orangehelm looked dazed for a second, but he kicked a pede upwards, shoving the flier backwards.

The red mech retreated quickly and jumped to the other side of the ring.

"Another great hit by Blueservo! It looks like we might have a victor! Sorry, but bets are over! And in case any of you fine mechs want to learn how to defend yourselves against dangerous mechs, Gyron Training Facility will always be glad to accept new customers!" The announcer was now envisioning a huge bonus on his normal pay.

"Blueservo! Blueservo! Blueservo!"

The red mech could vaguely hear the crowd chanting in the background, but their shouts seemed strangely quiet. He attributed their odd silence to audio receptor damage and continued searching his opponent's guard for weaknesses.

Orangehelm transformed into a large four-wheeled vehicle and accelerated, clearly intending to run the red mech over. However, the flier jumped upwards, assisted slightly by his thrusters, and quickly charged the laser pulse rifle. Several shots flew towards the speeding grounder before the red mech landed.

The laser pulses blinded Orangehelm for half a nanoklik, knocking out his optical feeds and sensor arrays. He was unable to turn quickly enough to avoid crashing. The front of his vehicle mode crumpled as he slammed into the sturdy wall of the arena.

The red mech approached warily, cautious of a trap.

"Wow! A spectacular fight! Orangehelm is down, but is he out? Find out in ten, nine, eight-"

Orangehelm remained motionless even after the red mech not-so-gently prodded his alt-mode with one pede.

"Two, one, and… we have a winner! Let's hear it for Blueservo!"

The crowd burst into applause, leaving the red mech slightly confused. After all, Orangehelm had technically defeated himself by driving into the wall… but the audience seemed to accept it, so the red mech congratulated himself on surviving his first match. Now, he would - hopefully - have Sharpspike's protection from Chopper.

"And if you liked that," the announcer exuberantly continued, "you could always pay more for the even gorier deathmatches!"

The crowd burst into cheering.

"Uh, can someone grab Orangehelm?" The red mech looked around, unsure about what he was supposed to do now that he had won. The doors surrounding the arena were still shut, and the announcer seemed to have forgotten about him.

No one heard his question. The audience was far too busy cheering or handing energon cubes to the announcer.

"Er, anybot going to do something about this mech?" The red mech raised one servo, trying to get the announcer's attention.

The crowd screamed even more loudly, misinterpreting his gesture as a triumphant wave.

A grim smile spread across the red mech's hidden features, mirroring the sense of elation quickly overcoming his confusion.

 _Yes_ , he thought, watching the crowds cheering for him. _I could do this all vorn._

* * *

Opportunistic Empties, perhaps thinking that the rotary mech with shining silver finish was weak, recoiled the moment they sensed his murderous aura. Perhaps it was the rotary's eerie calmness as he walked through one of the most dangerous areas in Iacon, or perhaps it was the small, jerky twitching of razor-sharp claws, but some small detail gave him a slightly off-key appearance that caused even Empties who did not recognize him to back off warily.

Chopper stalked through the shadows of ground-level Cybertron, fury etched into every feature and motion. His polished plating gleamed despite the low ambient light, but his sharp, fluid movements and uncannily piercing gaze spoke of skill deeper than any training or experience. Like the others of his since-discontinued model, his most basic coding focused upon a single imperative: to terminate the target at all costs.

Unfortunately for the dark red flier, he happened to be Chopper's target.

A small group of Empties scattered in all directions as Chopper approached. One, a small two-wheeler, was unfortunate enough to run _towards_ the furious helicopter. Silver claws instantly flashed out, sending her to the ground in a frightened heap.

"P-please don't hurt me," the two-wheeler begged, servos desperately trying to stem the flow of precious energon from her injured shoulder.

"Tell me," Chopper drawled, sneering disdainfully at the crouching Empty, "everything you know about two Seekers."

* * *

Greyspring tapped a datapad. "Nice job out there, you didn't even get your new paint scratched! Next match is going up, it's a two on three now, but they might need someone to make it even."

"What happens when the mechs go down?" The red mech _almost_ guiltily remembered the crumpled form of Orangehelm that two aides dragged out of the arena long after the match ended.

"Eh, they gotta get out of the ring themselves or they might get hurt really bad. Not really my problem though, I never been on the losing side."

The red mech looked around. On the streets under Iacon, he rarely spent any time idle, and that time was quickly occupied with searching for new parts or energon. His current situation allowed for some idle time.

"Oh yeah, and yer friend wanted to see you. He was saying something about how dangerous and terribly immoral fighting for sport was, and how… well, you get the point."

"Definitely sounds like him." The red mech nodded. "I'll go check on him."

As he was walking through one of the corridors, he noticed a few mechs clustered around a large screen in the hall. The red mech could catch a few snippets of conversation, and decided to look closer.

"Just gotta win one more match… get to the good weapon crate..."

"Hey look, that guy with the blue servo, what's his name? It says he gets access to the medium quality weapons! Hasta be a mistake… only won one match..."

"Sharpspike doesn't make mistakes, though..."

"Probably 'cause of his frametype… blasted fliers, always better off than us normal mechs..."

The dark red mech walked up to them, scanning their frames for weaknesses even as he pasted a friendly expression on his faceplates. "Hello."

"Hey, uh… Blueservo? I can see why they call you Blueservo, anyhow," one fighter replied, meaningfully glancing at the red mech's servo.

"Wouldn't have been my first choice," the red mech grumbled, "but the crowd's heard it, so I can't change it now."

"Tough luck," the fighter chuckled. "At least you didn't get a designation like ol' Shinyshell here."

One of the other fighters, an incredibly spiky mech who also happened to be fairly well-polished, turned around. "Hey! I'm not _Shiny_ shell, I'm _Spiny_ shell _!"_

He flicked some of the spines on his shoulder pads to demonstrate.

"I… see," the red mech muttered hesitantly.

"Wait, you're Blueservo?" Shinyshell's gaze was drawn to the mech's servo, and sudden realization dawned across his spiky faceplates. "Oh, makes sense I guess… anyway, what's in the medium weapons crate? I haven't got access to it yet. Just another match, really…"

"I haven't checked yet, what is it? I only arrived here last orn."

"Er… the boss lets us have better tech when we win more matches. Somethin' about gettin' good mechs good weapons, or something. I hear that once you're a professional… he lets you get a custom order weapon!" Muttering under his breath, Spinyshell said something about a 'mistake' and 'Sharpspike'.

"What's on the board?" Moving closer to the screen, the red mech could see statistics for each mech. Surprisingly, his popularity score was quite high already.

"Just about everythin' that makes a mech a mech down here, minus the frame. Sharpspike had these panels installed a few vorns ago, so they're kinda new."

"Hmm. I'd better take a look at those weapon crates, even though this laser pulse rifle isn't as _outdated_ as most mechs think it is," the red mech mused. "Well, it's been nice knowing you."

"Yeah yeah yeah. See ya around." The fighters turned back to the panel and resumed muttering amongst themselves.

* * *

 _Some units:  
_ _nanoklik - second  
_ _breem - minute  
_ _joor - hour  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Please write a review if you enjoyed the story!  
_ _~The Voids_


	13. Countdown

_When survival in an unkind world is all that matters..._

 _...what price is too great to pay?_

* * *

The red mech rounded the corner to see the green medic repairing a heavily wounded gladiator. The medic seemed to detect the other flier's presence without pausing in his repairs to the injured fighter's fuel pump.

"Sharpspike sent over a couple of cubes for you," the green flier began before the red mech could speak. "I thought you might have gone offline there, or lost your servo again, or- or something. And having mechs fight for sport! It's just… wrong."

"We're safe from Chopper, and we have energon," the red mech replied, slightly taken aback by the medic's sudden outburst. He inspected the two small cubes he had earned. "It's a decent quality, too. I don't see the problem."

"What good is energon if there's no mech to use it?"

"Of course there'll be a mech," he said, draining one cube and subspacing the other. His fuel levels rose back to a luxurious sixty-two percent. "Me… and maybe you, too, if there's enough fuel."

"Maybe!? I earn my own fuel, you know."

"Definitely, then," the red mech amended. He picked up a laser scalpel from a nearby tray, flipping it through the air as he spoke. "I survived on the streets for megavorns. This can't be much harder."

"If you say so- Ah!" The medic's servo slipped, causing bright blue fuel to spurt across the table.

"Wh-"

"Not now!" The medic frantically set to work clamping the ruptured energon lines. "I need to concentrate."

Silence encompassed the room as the laser scalpel spun up and down, creating a twirling blue light show in front of the red mech. The medic's wings twitched in silent irritation.

"If you're not going to help, go away," the medic finally snapped, elbow-deep in his patient's torso. Glowing blue droplets splattered over his normally dark green armor. "You're distracting me, and my patient is getting worse by the breem."

The red mech placed the laser scalpel back on its tray and turned to leave. He still needed to find out which weapons would be available to him next match.

First, however, some recharge was in order… if only he could find a dark, hidden corner that was fairly defensible. It would be… unfortunate… to get scrapped so soon after finding a relatively stable new occupation.

* * *

"Whaddya know! The weapons here are half good!" A brown mech stood near a long display wall holding weapons of all shapes and sizes, staring at the energon knife in his servo with an awestruck expression. Some energon from his thumb glittered upon the floor, evidently fallen from the digit when he tried to test the blade, but the gladiator seemed not to notice.

"Hmm," the red mech replied distractedly. He scanned the wall, noting several styles of weapons he had never seen before. There were hundreds of energon blades arrayed in neat rows by curvature and from shortest to longest. Blasters of varying power and accuracy hung from hooks along the wall, ranging from simple servo-held weapons to massive cannons and… was that a _railgun_!?

"Boss says you got an optional match coming up," a deep voice rumbled. "Free for all, another first to injure fight. Of course, there's no saving ya if you do go offline."

The red mech nearly jumped, but he managed to compose himself in time. Though Greyspring had approached with stealth not matching his frame size, it would not do to show weakness to a fellow fighter.

"Big energon reward," Greyspring continued. "The winner gets a cube for each mech he defeated."

"Alright, alright," the red mech replied, perking wings betraying his interest. "Just let me find another good weapon."

"Aha!" The brown fighter held up a servoful of energon knives, a triumphant expression on his scarred faceplates.

"That means both of you, and any other mechs you run into along the way," Greyspring said, turning to leave. "Spread the word. Last mech standing gets the energon."

"Isn't that how matches normally work?" The red mech glanced around in confusion as he stored a few small blades in an arm compartment.

"Heh, you wish. In these, anybot who wants a go at the energon can fight. Even random Empties," the brown mech explained, moving on to the blasters. "The more who join, the more energon the winner gets. Meaning me."

"Not if I win first," the red mech pointed out.

The brown fighter froze in place, seemingly torn between shock and rage.

The red mech, detecting the fighter's sudden fury, calmly picked up a promising-looking blaster and headed towards the shooting range.

"You'll see," the fighter growled just before the red mech could leave. "They all do, in the end."

* * *

The red mech found Shinyshell in the shooting range, launching thin metal sticks at the only visible target. All of the other lanes were unoccupied, but the targets were out of sight. A small, blinking console stood near the entrance to each lane.

The mech approached the nearest console, squinting at the tiny glyphs flashing on the screen. After a time, he finally decoded the message:

 _'0.5 energon cubes for 30 breems'_

"Highway robbery," he grumbled, hesitantly pouring the precious energon into the spout. A small light turned green, and a target descended from a slot in the ceiling.

"Blueservo! Fancy seeing ya here," the incredibly spiky fighter on the other side of the range called out, waving at the red mech with a shoddy-looking projectile weapon. A large crate of pointed sticks was on the floor next to him. "Look what your medic friend made me!"

"Uh… very nice," the red mech shouted back, digging his memory banks for any information on the weapon. According to his files on ancient Cybertronian armaments, projectile weapons of the 'crossbow' style had become outdated long before the Age of Wrath.

Aiming carefully at his own target, he raised a heavy blaster, charged it up to maximum, and fired-

-and it promptly flew backwards into a wall.

"Hey, is that a concussion rifle?" Shinyshell approached, optics wide.

"Seems like it," the mech grumbled, unsuccessfully trying to tug the weapon out of the back wall.

"Those aren't made for fliers, you know?" Shinyshell helped the red mech pull his concussion rifle out of the wall.

"I see."

"Anyway, what happened?" Shinyshell looked at the place where the target had been. There was no sign that the heavy block of metal had ever existed. "Don't tell me ya broke the target… that's a fine twenty-nine breems worth of shooting wasted! Plus you'd have to pay for a new target."

As if on cue, the target swung back into place, a huge dent adorning the upper right corner.

"At least I hit it," the red mech commented optimistically, glancing at the screen. "Twenty-eight breems left."

"Oh yeah, did ya know you can select what kind of target you want? These other ones don't go down so quick when ya shoot 'em with the heavy weaponry." Shinyshell poked the screen, selecting a sturdier target. "Also, if ya pay two cubes - big cubes, the ones professionals get - ya can shoot the moving targets."

"Sounds like a waste of energon," the red mech grumbled. His time was decreasing with each passing nanoklik he wasted talking to Shinyshell.

"Yeah well, Sharpspike doesn't run a charity. You only have twenty seven and a half breems left, by the way. Hey, can I shoot a few-"

"No. I'd better get some practice with my _outdated tech_ ," the red mech snapped, pointedly glaring at Shinyshell's crossbow as he unsubspaced his laser pulse rifle. "My time's running out."

"Good luck with that, anyway," Shinyshell said, detecting the mech's annoyance. "I figure I've got enough energon to skip this free-for-all everymech is so excited about. Even if ya do win, you gotta defeat a bunch to make decent energon. Terrorstrike won't let ya do that."

The mech made no audible reply, but the cant of his wings as he aimed the rifle very clearly expressed his opinion on having _enough energon_ to willfully skip a match. Any Empty with even the faintest shred of common sense shared a single universal truth: one simply _did not_ pass over an opportunity to get precious fuel. _Ever_.

* * *

The red mech looked at a large display screen near the door.

 _49 breems until match start._

"HAHAA! I'm so winning this! The world shall remember the name Terrorstrike!" The brown mech constantly shouted about his superiority while laughing the whole time.

"Oh yeah? You ain't winnin' while I'm in the game, and you know that!" Firecracker spun an energon sword around one servo and tossed a blaster in the air with the other.

The red mech carefully scanned each mech's frame for exploitable weaknesses. Terrorstrike had a critical flaw in his knee joint, but it was covered by a thick armor plate. Firecracker was in a relatively good condition, but his blaster looked like it was could only shoot low power bursts.

"Energon…?" The Empty called 'E-1337' looked toward the entrance. Drones brought mini-cubes of energon for the mechs on pre-fight. Firecracker immediately subspaced his, grinning. The others all drank their cubes, but the red mech hesitated. A brief scan of the cube showed it was far more volatile than other energon types. His energon levels were still relatively high, so he subspaced the cube.

"So many eager fighters! Looks like we might have a few promising new champions," the announcer enthusiastically shouted as the fighters stepped into the arena. "Introducing Terrorstrike, Firecracker, Offliner of Mechs, E-1337, Pleezgimmefuel, Igettonamemyself, those three Empties, and Blueservo!"

As usual, the audience's gleeful screaming gave the red mech a large processor-ache. He dialed his audio receptors down to their lowest sensitivity, but the audience's cheers were still painfully loud.

"Uh, Sharpspike," the announcer continued in a slightly quieter voice that the red mech still heard quite clearly. "Sir? We really should stop letting these Empties name themselves."

A rumble of laughter shook the audience.

"Ehm. Anyway." The announcer stood up and lifted his servo. "We are starting in five… four… three… two… one…" He brought his servo down on a buzzer. "Begin!"

The heavy doors around the arena closed with an ominous clang.

Terrorstrike immediately charged at Firecracker, pulling energon knives out of his arm compartment. Firecracker ducked under a swing, unsubspaced his mini-cube, and threw it. The cube exploded directly over Terrorstrike's knife compartment, effectively disabling the weapons and half of the surrounding plating.

"Would you look at that! He has splendid aim! If you want to know how to throw projectiles like that, Techamorph is happy to help!" The announcer knew that with so many high class mechs in the audience, it would be a shame to let an advertisement opportunity pass unfilled.

The red mech powered up his laser pulse rifle and aimed at the spark chamber of one of the Empties. The Empty tried to dodge the shot, but he wasn't fast enough; the blast hit one shoulder, burning a hole in his armor while the red mech pulled out an energon knife.

"Protect yourself from dangerous adversaries! Gyron Training Facility will train anymech that wishes to learn!"

An energon knife unexpectedly sliced through the Empty's spark chamber from behind. The sparkless frame dropped to the ground before the startled mech.

Terrorstrike retrieved the knife from his latest victim and charged. Stepping aside nimbly, the red mech stabbed his energon blade into Terrorstrike's knee joint. While it didn't do any real damage, it made the brown mech angry.

The red mech fired up his thrusters for a quick getaway, leaving Terrorstrike to take out his anger on the remaining four fighters. The brown mech set to work gleefully ripping the Empties into shreds.

"Ooh, looks like Terrorstrike isn't playing by the rules! But that's alright, we love a good deathmatch! Come on and place your bets!"

Offliner Of Mechs blocked a cut by Terrorstrike, but Firecracker's blaster knocked his helm to the side and he fell down, energon trickling from one shattered optic.

The red mech transformed his servo into its sonic blade configuration and launched himself towards Firecracker. The two-wheeler instantly swung a pede at the blade, but he failed to notice the energon blade hidden in the red mech's other servo.

"Ooh! We're down to three mechs! Last call for bets!"

Firecracker desperately leapt to his pedes and ran for the edge of the arena, raising his servos in surrender.

"I can't believe it… I'm out… I'm out…!" Firecracker slumped against the wall, optics fixed on the still-bright energon knife lodged in his elbow joint.

The red mech's optics narrowed, concentrating as he risked activating his ancient battle computer. Time seemed to slow down as his optics received and processed more frames per second.

A glittering shard of blue light - another of Terrorstrike's energon knives - arced down towards him. He watched his own servo transforming back to its standard configuration as if in slow motion.

 _Predicted action/reaction grid: Damage will occur to the right arm joint._

A sharp biting pain in his right arm brought back ancient combat medic protocols. The small blade was lodged in a noncritical section of armor.

 _Protect the patient until predefined limits._

He reached up with his blue servo, now fully transformed, and gripped Terrorstrike's forearm.

 _Error: Defect in limits to patient protection. File 'limits' not found. Find coding expe-_

He dismissed the warning.

With all the power in his frame, the red mech crushed inward with the servo. Terrorstrike's faceplates had pain written on them, but the red mech did not stop.

He activated the thruster on his right leg, smashing his knee into Terrorstrike's damaged knee. The joint snapped backwards, and the lower leg fell to the ground. Wires frayed and sparked as Terrorstrike screamed.

 _Threat not neutralized. Error: Defect in limits to patient protection. File 'limits' not found. Find coding expert._

With the other servo, the red mech pulled out a fan of energon knives, all of them activating. He slashed at Terrorstrike, creating a deep gouge in the armor, but the brown mech's plating was too thick to do serious damage.

 _Threat not neutralized. Proceed._

Terrorstrike raised his free servo, but the red mech activated both thrusters and pulled the brown mech into the air. The red mech disdainfully glanced at the suddenly frightened fighter, released him, and watched with coolly calculating optics as he dropped painfully to the ground.

The red mech touched down on the ground next to the fallen Terrorstrike. He pulled the energon knife out of his own arm, and let it drop to the ground.

 _Threat neutralized. Error : File 'remorse' not found. Combat medic field protocols de-activating._

"Threat neutralized," the red mech spoke in an eerie monotone. The words were not quite his own, but they were still picked up and amplified by the arena's systems.

The crowds cheered, chanting "Blueservo!" the whole time.

They did not care that their previous champions were badly wounded. They had a new favorite.

* * *

 _Some Cybertronian units:  
_ _nanoklik - second  
_ _breem - minute  
_ _joor - hour  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _More coming soon! Stay tuned!  
_ _~The Voids_


	14. Vengeance

_Nowhere to run._

 _Nowhere to hide._

 _Chopper's coming… for YOU!_

* * *

Chopper slipped silently through the tunnels beneath Cybertron's surface, polished armor a gleam of liquid silver in the night.

Down here lurked the monsters of legend… the Drillers, the Insecticons, and, worst of all… Chopper.

Light flashed just ahead. A dimly-lit passageway opened in the side of one tunnel, perhaps created by some ancient creature from Cybertron's darkest myths.

Thousands of voices echoed through from a distant arena, creating a thunderous roar.

" _Blueservo! Blueservo!_ "

The audience's elated cheers for their champion unknowingly drew Chopper's attention towards the direction of the chant. He swiftly disconnected one rotor-blade, activating elite stealth protocols. The already near-undetectable flare of his energy field vanished completely.

His prey was near.

* * *

The red mech clutched at his right arm harder, hastily deactivating the surrounding sensors as he speed-walked down seemingly endless corridors. Now that his battle computer was offline, he felt the full extent of the damage to his frame. The unfortunate combination of recently repaired sensor grids and Terrorstrike's proficiency in choosing energon blades resulted in an exceedingly painful injury.

He finally arrived at the repair bay. The dark green medic was tapping at a datapad, but he looked up when the red mech entered.

"Blueservo!" The medic quickly led the red mech to a table and grabbed a welder. "What happened out there? I almost thought Terrorstrike was going to win!"

"Heh, no." The red mech said, looking faintly amused. Granted, Terrorstrike had some skill, but he was too arrogant for his own good. "Wait, you watched the match? I thought you didn't like violence."

"I don't, but… I had to know," the medic mumbled. He finished off the weld and grabbed a sander. "How'd you beat him?"

"Battle computer," the red mech said. "With those useless medical limits deleted, it works just like a normal warbuild's."

" _Useless_?"

The mech shrugged. "Useless in a fight."

"Interesting. I guess you can take the medic out of the combat, but you can't take the combat out of the…" The dark green flier trailed off after noticing the red mech's glare. "Er… never mind."

He performed another scan of the red mech's arm and servo, looking for tiny flaws in the repairs that could start rusting over time. Suddenly remembering an earlier visitor, the medic unsubspaced two small energon cubes.

"Greyspring left these for you. He said to check the scoreboards, too. Apparently you're quite popular with the noblemechs." The medic went back to scanning the red mech's arm and servo. "What the…?"

"What is it?" The red mech started his own scan on his servo. Everything seemed normal. "What are you looking at?"

"This… this isn't possible. Your servo isn't even damaged!"

"Are you sure? That's- oh. I see." The red mech's scans confirmed the medic's observation. "Strange. I scanned Terrorstrike before the match, and his arm had normal integrity."

"You crushed his forearm with your servo, there has to be at least some damage. My sensors must be malfunctioning bec-"

"Medic," a slightly strained voice called out from the console. "Report to Arena Six immediately."

"Looks like I have to go," the medic explained apologetically, giving the red mech a servoful of tools. "I trust you know what to do with these?"

"Of course," the red mech replied, sounding faintly offended.

The medic scurried out of the room as the red mech turned his attention to repairing other small dents and nicks on his frame. Now that he had a steady supply of energon and quite a bit of free time, he could afford to fix the smaller, less immediately threatening wounds.

The red mech dug in a nearby crate, finding a small pile of metal sheets, and turned his attention to his recently repaired arm. Though his original servo's claws were dull and the metal was dented, every bit of blue-coated metal on his right servo gleamed as brightly as the orn he had found it.

Evidently frame designers had been planning to give combat medics even sturdier armor - an essential advantage when said mechs were programmed to both protect patients and avoid harming others - before the model had been decommissioned.

Just above the weld lines connecting the mech's blue servo and red forearm plating, the damaged laser cutter he had relied upon for so many megavorns glinted dimly. The red mech knew it could still be quite useful if repaired. However, damaged as it was, its unnecessary presence would only serve to hinder his movement in matches.

The mech set his optics to a higher magnification to inspect the heavy-duty welds holding the laser to his arm's weapon mounts. After shutting off the surrounding sensors, he cut them with a precise beam from his functional laser and waited for tiny clamps to disengage.

He then subspaced the damaged cutter, trading it for the larger, more powerful form of his recently acquired laser pulse rifle.

He had previously used the laser pulse rifle like any other servo-held weapon, but attaching it meant better maneuverability. His arm was free now; he could only benefit from having a new, more powerful attached weapon.

Small clamps on the underside of the rifle socketed into matching gaps in his arm plating, holding the weapon in place as he carefully spliced energon lines that had once fueled his old laser into the new rifle's power supply. Finally, he used a welder and a few small strips of sheet metal to seal the connection points.

A few experimental shots later, the red mech was satisfied with the durability of the welds. Now, he just had to think of a good explanation for the blackened spots on the wall…

The door slid open behind him.

The sound of the medic's soft pedesteps drifted to the mech's audio receptors as he returned the welder to its shelf.

"Back so soon," the red mech stated, turning towards the medic. "How'd it g-"

Chopper stood in front of the door, a small but unmistakably triumphant smile playing across his features as his silver plating gleamed impossibly bright under the harsh lighting.

The medic was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh." The red mech suppressed the urge to cower or flee, instead activating his battle computer and assessing the rotary.

The results were far from optimistic. Chopper's frame showed signs of multiple upgrades; any inherent weaknesses his model might once have possessed had long since been accounted for.

Chopper said nothing. There was no need for him to speak; both mechs could predict the result of any fight.

The mech was cornered. Chopper had the advantages of elite coding and extensive training.

Chopper would win. His knowing smile said as much.

The mech would offline… but not without a fight.

* * *

The mech frantically tried to think of an escape plan, but every scenario he ran led to the same result: his own termination.

As Chopper stepped forward, swinging his rotor sword in a glittering arc, the red mech dodged and activated his newly attached laser pulse rifle. If Chopper would terminate him anyway, he could at least try to inflict as much damage as possible before he offlined.

Chopper shifted his pede slightly, and the laser pulse aimed for his knee joint barely grazed his silver paint. An angry flash of the rotary's optics was the mech's only warning before Chopper closed the distance between them with uncanny speed.

The red mech jumped into the air, but the low ceiling eliminated any chance of avoiding Chopper's blade. His battle computer automatically deactivated both thrusters to avoid triggering an explosion as he dropped painfully to the ground, energon trickling from a deep gash on one leg.

The next instant, the mech rolled sideways and lashed out with both servos. His claws bounced harmlessly off the rotary's armor, while his vibroblade was easily deflected by Chopper's sword.

Agony lanced through one wing as the rotor blade tore through the sensitive flight surface too quickly for the mech's battle computer to compensate. He hissed, involuntarily jerking limbs causing his next shot to hit the ceiling instead of the silver rotary. His good leg kicked outwards, aiming to burn silver pedes with an active thruster, but the rotary was too fast.

The mech scuttled sideways and fired a series of low-intensity pulses at Chopper, hoping to hit something vital, but he had no such luck. The rotary's amused expression made it abundantly clear that the mech's attempts at fighting back were doing little more than prolonging his own suffering.

Chopper quickly tired of the mech's defiance when a laser pulse glanced off his silver helm, neutralizing one optical feed. He lunged forward, knocking aside the mech's rifle, and stabbed between red arm and torso plates.

The door slid open, unnoticed by the fighting mechs.

"I'm back," the medic announced.

The mech cried out as Chopper's sharp blade easily pierced through the tiny gap in his otherwise tough armor, severing the secondary energon lines that powered his rifle. His arm dropped to the side, sonic blade deactivating as motor relays in his shoulder were severed.

"Did you fi-" The green medic's question cut off sharply the instant he heard the mech's scream.

He hurriedly transformed into a jet and fled the scene.

"Coward," the red mech snarled, wishing he could reach the door just behind the rotary.

He swung his left servo at Chopper's pede again, leaving four thin lines in the shiny paint. Unfortunately, the hardened alloy beneath remained undamaged, and the rotary was careful to stay away from the mech's kicking pedes.

"I've offlined over twenty thousand mechs. You never stood a chance," Chopper gloated, smiling wickedly as he twisted his sword in the mech's shoulder.

The mech flopped across the ground, servo clawing uselessly at the blade in his shoulder. Now that he had two open wounds, his energon levels were dropping even more quickly than before.

The mech thrashed helplessly, crimson optics furious as Chopper slowly drew the sword out.

The rotary flicked the gleaming blade once, sending a splatter of glowing fuel across the floor. He raised the blade dramatically, holding it in the air above the mech before stabbing towards the spark-

Chopper was suddenly knocked forward by an explosion. The sword in his servos carved a deep gash in the mech's torso plating as the rotary stumbled forwards. However, he would not be denied his revenge… especially not now, when he was so close to terminating the red mech.

He expertly regained his balance and stabbed the sword downwards.

Just before the sword hit the red mech's spark chamber, a flash of green appeared, pausing for a moment over the red mech before both fliers disappeared down the hall in a roar of engines.

Chopper spun around, a snarl distorting his faceplates, only to be met by a furious silver blur.

* * *

After carefully lowering the injured red mech to the floor, the medic transformed and landed on his pedes.

"I… I thought you had left me," the red mech gasped. Streams of glowing energon trickled from his wounds, pooling on the ground below.

"I wouldn't just leave! I knew you couldn't win, so I had to get some help," the green medic explained. He pulled a box of tools from subspace and started inspecting the deep gash in the red mech's torso. "Chopper certainly knew what he was doing."

"You don't say," the mech croaked. "He's… strong… for a mech who sits… in his office all… orn."

"I heard he was in Special Forces during the Quintesson wars," the medic mused, wiping excess energon away from the mech's wounds before the volatile fuel could ignite. "Probably one of the elite assassin models."

"Nearly… offlined me." The mech winced in pain as the medic's claws brushed against shredded armor.

"I can see that." The medic's claws nimbly twisted torn fuel lines shut as his other servo drew some spare tubes from subspace. "You should go into stasis to conserve energy. These repairs will take some time."

"Where is…?"

"Sharpspike's dealing with him. You're safe now."

"Safe…" The mech's dim red optics slowly faded to black.

* * *

 _Some Cybertronian units:  
_ _nanoklik - second  
_ _breem - minute  
_ _joor - hour  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Thanks for reading!  
_ _~The Voids_


	15. Knife's Edge

_The war is over; the memories are not._

 _What enemies could not do, time has done..._

 _And as the world crumbles to chaos,_

 _No adversary could cause greater destruction,_

 _Than we did to ourselves._

* * *

Chopper faced Sharpspike, snarling angrily at the missed opportunity to see the red mech offline by his own servos. The two silver mechs circled each other in the small confines of the repair room.

"We meet again," Sharpspike said, lifting his blaster and his mace.

"This time not as allies but as enemies." Chopper pulled a second sword off his rotary assembly, activating it. Both swords twirled in whirling fans of gleaming silver.

"We never were _allies_ , you honorless excuse for a mech!" Sharpspike fired his cannon while lunging towards Chopper.

Chopper dodged nimbly to the side, and Sharpspike's cannon shot made a crater in the wall.

"Honor is for offlined mechs!" Chopper swung his rotor swords in a gleaming display, but each attempted hit was deflected by Sharpspike. Chopper's optic ridges furrowed in concentration as his swords whirled toward the gladiator's neck joint.

For an instant it seemed as though Sharpspike would lose, but somehow be deflected the blade yet again.

"We were built for different glories, Chopper. You know that as well as any who served in the war." Sharpspike swung his mace yet again, and this time Chopper had to dodge.

"I was meant to win the war while your kind acted as cannon fodder!" Chopper swung his swords at Sharpspike's servo, without pausing or permitting even a brief respite from his blows.

Sharpspike jumped back and shot several weaker blasts with his cannon. The mace he was holding split into four pieces, three of them turning into drones and whizzing around him.

"I thought you cared about _honor_ ," Chopper spat mockingly. "What, can't defeat me without the extra help?"

"They are as much a part of me as any limb, and they obey my orders without question." Pride gleamed in the gladiator's optics.

Chopper smiled, spotting an opportunity. "Limbs hurt when they are chopped off."

Sharpspike barely had time to engage the drones' evasive maneuvers before a silver blade slashed through the air. Even so, one was clipped and the fuel limiting system was damaged.

The gladiator flinched slightly at the drone's injury. He barely had time to direct the damaged drone to dive at Chopper's helm before the shredded propulsion system shorted out.

The rotary dodged effortlessly, but the drone exploded in a spray of shrapnel when it impacted the wall. Several shards of metal glanced off Chopper's rotors, making him hiss slightly, but they were a minor annoyance. He started up flight systems, lazily twirling back-mounted rotors in sync with his silver swords. Drone innards flew in all directions.

The two silver mechs clashed again in a shower of sparks. Chopper ignored the two drones attempting to dive-bomb him, spinning his back-mounted rotors at them to keep part of the gladiator's attention diverted.

* * *

While stuck in emergency stasis, the red mech could do little except search through old archives in his memory banks.

 _Gunfire sounds outside the makeshift bunker._

" _We have to get out of here! They're getting closer!"_

" _Our commander is out there! He had vital intelligence on the enemy!"_

 _Tools scrape against a rough surface._

" _Well, send a team of medics to assist him!"_

" _There are no spare medics! The civilian builds don't have enough armor and all the combat medics besides me are injured or in retreat!"_

" _This one's not damaged too badly." Does he mean… me…? How did I get here…?_

" _Fix him, fast! I'll get my squad together-" Right… there was an explosion. I think the other mechs survived though. They patched me up as fast as they could, anyway… just couldn't fully fix my leg in time._

" _Alright, you're done." The medic's voice moves closer. "Let's go find the commander. The tacticians needs that intel!"_

 _Engines fire up as I transform. My leg is still damaged, but I won't need to walk as a jet._

 _If I can save the commander, we might still have hope of victory. If I can't, the war will end… with our defeat._

" _Go!"_

" _Sir." Wind and blaster fire roar around me. Scans ping the surface, searching for the commander's energy signature. The other medic is nearby, similarly searching the battlefield for our target. A missile shoots up from the surface but is easily evaded._

 _There! The commander is barely holding his own against several enemy troops._

" _Here!" The commander leaps upward, grabbing onto the other medic's wings as he swoops by. I launch an emergency carrying platform, and the two of us manage to drag him into the sky._

 _More blaster fire erupts below us. If only grounders were less heavy, we might be able to escape more quickly-_

 _Something explodes under the other medic. He's leaking energon badly. We need to get to a safe place, and soon._

" _I'm hit!" The medic accelerates, trying to get to the base faster, but his trajectory is starting to decay. The commander clutches the platform more tightly._

" _Just keep flying!" The base is in sight now._

" _I… need energon… emergency stasis…." The other medic's engines lose power. He is still gliding forward, but now his nosecone points toward the ground._

" _Drop me over Gamma Squadron. They'll catch me." The commander leans over the emergency carrier, pointing to a group of mechs on the ground. His other servo supports the injured medic._

 _Wings are failing. I can't carry the weight of both mechs much longer…._

" _We're at a safe altitude," I announce, struggling to ignore the strain in sensitive wings._

 _The commander jumps, heaving the injured medic onto the carrier as he falls._

 _Suddenly one of the medic's engines explodes, severely damaging my sensory arrays. The cables holding the carrier snap off as the ground accelerates towards me. I am going to crash..._

 _Pain flares brightly. Is that the crash?_

 _It can't have been. A crash at that speed would surely have offlined me. I need help, but there are no medics left…? How did I survive the crash at all…?_

 _My optics land on the wreckage of the other medic, half-transformed in his final act of protection. Shattered optics sputter weakly before dying out. His programming must still have recognized me as a patient._

* * *

"You should be fine now. I patched up your damaged lines," the green medic informed his patient. "Of course, you can't hear me, because you're in stasis, but I really think you should avoid Chopper. For now I'll just have to carry you to the medbay… it's not even a real medbay."

There was a long pause.

"I think Sharpspike and Chopper are evenly matched. One of them has to win eventually, right? Maybe Sharpspike will. He shot Chopper first, and Chopper was lower on energon… but Chopper is strong. And clever."

He paused again.

"I should really stop talking to myself." The green medic glanced at the red mech he was carrying to the alternate medbay, if it could be termed as such. It was more of a half-empty storage room then a medbay.

* * *

"It seems we're evenly matched," Chopper finally observed, swinging a rotor-blade at Sharpspike. As with the rotary's other several hundred attacks, the blow was deflected.

"You will tire eventually." Sharpspike's trained optics noticed a slight decline in Chopper's dodging speed as the rotary evaded a cannon blast that decimated a table.

"Eventually." The rotary's cunning optics narrowed in concentration as he avoided a large fist. "How much energon will you lose in the meantime? Hundreds of cubes? Thousands?"

"That is none of your concern," Sharpspike growled, batting a rotor-sword aside.

"You think _none_ of your subordinates will leap at the chance to skim a little extra energon while you're busy fighting me?"

Sharpspike roared in response, sending one drone towards a tiny gap in the rotary's defense.

"You know I'm right." Chopper hissed in pain as the drone carved a deep gash in one spinning rotor, but he quickly retaliated by reversing the direction of his dorsal rotors. Sharpspike's two drones instantly tumbled away, unable to compensate for the sudden reversal in wind direction.

The gladiator's attacks lessened for a nanoklik as he attempted to regain control of his drones.

Chopper was gradually tiring; his frametype had been designed for sudden speed and strength, not endurance, and the long joors of fighting had weakened him. He quickly formulated a plan, retreating to the corner of the room and swatting one disoriented drone out of the air.

Sharpspike predictably noticed and charged, snarling angrily.

"These aren't cheap." Chopper pinned the drone down with one pede. The tip of a silver blade toyed with the drone's inner workings, slowly cutting through its rudimentary flight sensors.

"Argh!" Sharpspike halted instantly, unable to fully disguise his sharp flinch. As a gladiator, he had long since become accustomed to pain inflicted on his own frame. However, since other fighters were rarely able to catch one of his drones - much less torture it in Chopper's precise method - the sharp echo of pain from the drone was an unfamiliar sensation.

"Are you willing to lose so much energon over a pointless fight?" Chopper's drawling voice wavered slightly as his blade carved through the drone's sensors with excruciating slowness. "We can make a deal."

"A deal," Sharpspike growled, steadfastly ignoring the drone's pain. His trained optics spotted a slight tremor in Chopper's sword. Satisfaction filled the gladiator as he charged up his cannon. "Even now, you weaken. I could offline you."

"Ah, but you misunderstand. A deal is profitable for both of us!" Chopper smiled, an eerie light in his optics.

"A deal?" Sharpspike stood ready for any sudden moves, but he liked profit. Profit was good enough for him, and Chopper was in no position to make a non-profitable bargain.

"Yeeessss… I get the one you call Blueservo, you get twenty-seven energon cubes." Chopper fully intended to give the gladiator the smallest energon cubes he could find, but that hope was quickly dispelled.

"Twenty-seven normal sized energon cubes is nowhere near what that fighter can earn for me," Sharpspike pointed out, raising his cannon again. "I know your tricks."  
"Wait!" Chopper frowned, knowing that it would be nearly impossible to dodge a point-blank shot in his fatigued state. "We can negotiate!"

Sharpspike chuckled, aiming the cannon. "How about you give me fifty cubes, and I let you keep your spark another orn."

"That's hardly a deal," Chopper protested. "Thirty cubes for Blu-"

"That," the gladiator growled, "was my final offer."

The cannon hummed with power.

"Alright, alright," the rotary angrily spat. "But this isn't over."

Sharpspike lowered the cannon and smiled unpleasantly.

"I'm glad we could come to this... _agreement_."

* * *

Greyspring and Sharpspike marched through the tunnels, systematically testing the Iacon Underground's new security measures.

"Why didn't ya trade him, boss? Thirty normal sized cubes is a lot, and we coulda added another viewing station for the audiences."

"Two orns here and Blueservo has already earned me more energon than most Empties," Sharpspike commented, testing the strength of a newly-installed blast door with one fist. "Nomech, not even that _rotary_ , offlines one of _my_ popular fighters until _I_ say so."

"Fair point." Greyspring nodded in understanding as the two of them moved toward the next door.

Sharpspike slammed his servo into this door as well, grunting slightly when his powerful attack bounced off harmlessly. His fist had barely scratched the door's surface.

"Every orn, more high class mechs come to watch my gladiators fight. The wealthier customers are already demanding higher-stakes tournaments with other arenas."

"Something's coming," Greyspring agreed, recalling Iacon's very first gladiator fights. Back then, it was rare for mechs to be injured enough to need an actual medic. Now, mechs were getting severely wounded, or even offlined, in every match. "Something big is on its way."

"Maybe you're right," Sharpspike muttered. "In the meantime, I get the feeling Blueservo will earn me lots of profit."

* * *

 _Some Cybertronian units:  
_ _nanoklik - second  
_ _breem - minute  
_ _joor - hour  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Thanks for reading and sorry for the long wait! Updates from now on will be more sparse. Never fear, though... we may take a while to update, but we will never abandon this story!  
_ _~The Voids_


	16. Potential

_Practice makes perfect._

* * *

"Wait," Greyspring called, correcting the red mech's stance. "Alright, try again."

The red mech winced slightly as the motion pulled at fresh welds, but he moved into position without complaint.

"I'm back!" The green mech stepped into the training room, moving over to a small workbench. It was supposedly for repairing fighters injured in training, but the normal repair room was in shambles and the medic needed somewhere to work.

"No, no. You move your arm here," Greyspring continued, ignoring the medic.

"Take it easy." The medic frowned at the red mech and his grey mentor. "You shouldn't even be moving around this much."

"I need to train," the red mech replied. "On the streets, I only learned what I needed to survive." Without losing an instant, the red mech ducked under Greyspring's punch and aligned his laser with the old fighter's helm.

"Better. That move only works on slower mechs though, and they don't fight in the arenas unless they have another trick to staying online."

The green medic shook his helm, turning back to his work. Apparently Shinyshell liked the crossbow enough that he had requested super-heated projectiles and a smaller launcher. The medic didn't like seeing weapons used - especially not when _he_ was the one who would have to patch the victims back together - but at least his creations were protecting the spiky gladiator.

"Some mechs just have lots of plating," Greyspring explained. "Some have a weapon on their back, like a pulse gun. I saw a fighter who let mechs sneak up behind him just so that he could catch them by surprise with a shot to the helm."

The red mech's optics gleamed with interest.

"Generally speaking, if mechs have more armor, they use more fuel or go slower," the old fighter continued. "Be careful though; some warbuilds have speed upgrades."

Greyspring paused slightly, giving the red mech a chance to process the information.

"Now, what would you do if a mech is charging at you and you're in a corner?"

"Duck." The mech hesitated slightly, considering his high energon levels. He could afford to use his flight systems now. "Jump upward?"

"You can't, the roof is too low."

"Shoot the mech and put my pede up to stop the frame from hitting me."

Greyspring raised an optic ridge at the red mech's response. "How well can you shoot a moving target?"

"With the speed of most tank-builds…" The mech silently performed the calculations, grimacing at the results his processor returned. "Five times out of seven."

Greyspring frowned. "Not good odds. The other two times you would offline."

"The shooting range isn't affordable." The red mech turned to look at Greyspring. "Last time-"

"Sharpspike gave you five free breems for the fifty energon cubes you earned him, remember?"

"Five free breems? What could I do with that?"

"You could practice your shooting for five breems, of course! What else would you do with it?" Greyspring headed out the door, limping slightly. "Are you coming or not?"

The red mech stepped down from the elevated training area, following the old fighter.

* * *

"Ey medic, didya get me the Spike Launcher Beta?" Shinyshell stood in the small training ring, staring at the finished projectiles and shiny new crossbow.

"Here it is!" The green medic lifted the completed weapon from the workbench. "Put a bit of energon into the crossbow and a projectile, then it heats the projectile up and launches it! Uhh… and that'll be a cube of energon."

Shinyshell frowned.

"To pay for that scrap metal, of course," the medic hastily amended. "Metal isn't free, you know."

"Right… thanks! Here ya go."  
Shinyshell exchanged a small cube for the crossbow and projectiles.

"Where do you get all of these? I haven't seen this type of cube anywhere in these parts." The green medic inspected the oddly dim energon cube Shinyshell gave him.

"Uh… there's this mech that sells me energon. He's from the surface… it works _better_ on the machines... uh… thanks again! I gotta go test this!" Shinyshell almost ran out the door. At the last moment, he dashed back and put another half cube on the green medic's workbench.

"Don't tell anyone about the energon!" He bolted out the door, headed for the shooting range.

"No worries," the medic said to the empty room as he gathered his tools and the bribe.

* * *

Greyspring pointed to a display at the far right of the target practice room.

"Try that one. I'll activate the five free breems."

The red mech moved over to the display, selecting a still target.

The display's primitive AI asked, "begin 5 free breems now?"

The red mech powered up his laser pulse rifle and nodded. "Begin."

"Five breems starting."

The doors at the other side of the shooting range opened, allowing a small target to pop out.

After a few shots, it was rather obvious the red mech knew how to hit the stationary target.

"Try a moving target."

The red mech selected a moving target from the menu, frowning at the three breems left.

"Hey! Blueservo! Fancy seeing ya here again!"

"Busy."

"Oh, wow, you have the five breem bonus? Ya know, if ya put in a cube ya'll get five free breems on that too!"

"I'm _busy_." Even though the red mech was interested in the extra breems, he needed to practice and he didn't have many cubes left.

"Eh, alright. Ey, when ya finish, can I use that station?"

" _When_ I finish. _Not_ before."

The red mech shot multiple times at the target, most missing behind it or in front of it.

"He's training. Now go shoot targets or leave."

"Yaah! Greyspring! Er, hello..." Shinyshell quickly moved to a display at the other side of the range and poured in a quarter of a cube.

"Two breems," the computer chirped extremely slowly.

"Put in another cube, ya shiny excuse for a mech," Greyspring shouted, holding out a partly full cube. "That's barely enough to shoot a couple of targets."

"It's _spiny_ ," Shinyshell angrily replied, turning to aim his new crossbow at the gray veteran before wisely thinking better of it. "I don't need your charity!"

"Hmph. Idiot." Greyspring turned back to the red mech, tossing the quarter-full cube over. "You should probably put this in. Five breems won't get anymech anywhere except offline."

"I can use this?" The red mech was cautious. No rational mech gave precious energon away without wanting something in return. "What would I owe you?"

"Eh, win your fights. Sharpspike'll probably pay me a lot more if I get you in fighting shape by next decaorn."

The red mech noticed that Greyspring was the only one who regularly used Sharpspike's designation. Filing this information away, he turned back to the target and shot a few more times.

There was a faint scraping sound as the door slid open.

"I am the mightiest mech in the seven galaxies, come to defeat you heathen scum! Behold me, TERRORSTRIKE!"

"Well spoken, for a mech who's never been off Cybertron," the red mech muttered. "I can tell by your frametype that you were created _after_ the spaceports closed."

Greyspring turned to look at the brown gladiator. "If you aren't going to use the range, _leave_. We have better things to do than listen to you."

"Oh hey there, did you strike terror into the ground when you fell?" Shinyshell casually aimed his new crossbow, but it was clear to everyone that he had spoken.

"Indeed I did, _Shiny_ shell!" Terrorstrike appeared completely unfazed by the insult. "Want some polish? AHAHAHAAA!"

"Hmph." Shinyshell's servos clenched around the crossbow as he fired another projectile at the target. "See that target melting? Next one is you!"

"Use the range or go." Greyspring lifted a clenched servo and stepped towards Terrorstrike threateningly.

"Fine." Anger crossed the brown mech's faceplates. He pulled a servoful of energon knives from subspace and stomped to an unoccupied booth.

The red mech poured a cube into his own station, causing the display to announce another thirty breems.

"Alright, back to work." Greyspring glanced at the drone currently wandering around the red mech's lane. "Hit the green dot on the drone."

The red mech lifted his rifle again, carefully aiming ahead of the drone's course. Linear prediction algorithms locked on, and he sent the signal to fire-

The drone changed direction at the last moment. The mech's laser pulse flew straight ahead... and missed the dot.

"You're still going to be offlined," Greyspring rumbled, shaking his helm. "Shooting in a line? Even a newsparked warbuild could hit the target better than that."

"I don't have weapon targeting protocols."

"Yeah? Neither does Shiny over there. Do you see any of his shots missing? No."

"Hey!" Shinyshell indignantly shouted. "It's _SPINY!_ "

His protest was resolutely ignored by every mech in the range.

"Watch." To prove his point, Greyspring pulled a small blaster from subspace and offlined his optics. Three perfect shots impacted the drone's target, burning a dark spot in the green paint. "There, you see? Again."

The mech aimed for the green dot, waiting for just the right moment-

"No, no, no. You're taking too long. Anymech could predict where you're aiming. You have to visualise the shot in your processor first, _then_ move your arm and fire." Greyspring pushed the mech's rifle arm down. "Now, do you see what you're aiming for?"

The mech nodded.

"Imagine where you arm needs to go."

There was a short pause before the mech nodded again.

"Now… shoot!"

The mech whipped his arm upward and fired the instant the rifle achieved the right angle. A low-power laser pulse shot across the range, creating a dark smudge on the side of the drone's target.

"Better," Greyspring acknowledged. "Now work on your speed. The faster you aim, the less the target moves from its original position."

* * *

The new orn continued much as the previous two had - in training. Greyspring's teaching style was relentless, but the mech took it in stride. Every orn spent learning combat skills improved his chances of survival in upcoming matches.

The mech dove out of the way as a tank barreled through the spot he had just occupied. He activated external scanners, but Greyspring attacked again before the red mech could get his complete frame schematics.

"Stop dodging and attack," Greyspring advised. "You're relying too much on scanners."

The red mech settled into a comfortable fighting stance as the old gladiator charged again.

"Keep your servos up," Greyspring shouted.

The red mech lifted his servos, only for Greyspring's fist to impact his midsection. He tucked his limbs in as he crashed backwards, turning the fall into a more controlled roll. Even so, his wings still twinged painfully when their sensor-rich surfaces hit the ground.

The instructor shook his helm. "You're looking for the obvious attack. That might work with amateurs, but it'll get you offlined when you start fighting the _real_ gladiators."

The mech leapt back to his pedes, feinting at the tank with one servo while the other shot towards Greyspring's helm.

Both attacks were easily countered, but the instructor gave a faint nod of approval.

The mech leapt backwards just in time to avoid a grey fist to the helm. At the very least, he was getting better at avoiding Greyspring's attacks.

* * *

Crouched under a makeshift shelter of two metal planks, four mechs discussed their terrible plight.

"Hey, blue mech… are ya sure about this? I mean, ya know that we was supposed ta offline Sharpspike, right? I mean, yeah, he owns a gladiator pit and all..."

The blue former guard looked at the rusty mech.

"He still doesn't know that we were supposed ta kill him, ya know."

The grey mech inspected a nearly empty energon cube.

"We still have a bunch of this energon, right?"

"It won't last us long. Fighting for Sharpspike is our best chance… we have skill with fighting, right?" The blue mech tossed an empty cube into the air.

"I had some 'sperience, from th' war." The rusty mech said, attempting a grin.

"You? You fought in the wars?" The fourth mech asked, scratching his mottled brown and black paint.

"Sure did! Been working for Chopper ever since!"

"So we're going to fight in Sharpspike's arenas?" The blue mech opened his servo, revealing the empty energon cube. Several cracks ran along the transparent side.

"Wait wha- when did we agree?" Everyone turned to the grey mech. "I say we vote!"

"I'm with 'im, let's go!" The rusty mech stood, followed by the others.

* * *

"'Ello!" The rusty mech shouted rather cheerfully, considering that he and his companions were surrounded by mechs with dangerously humming blasters.

"Whaddya want, rusty?"

"We wanna fight in th' arenas!"

"What he _means_ is that we want to get a job here." The blue mech stepped in front of the rusty mech, blocking him from view.

"Heh, the boss is always happy to get new _cannon fodder_ …" the guard pulled out a device and pressed the button. "I bet you won't last two matches."

"Yeah?" A staticky voice rasped over the intercom. "What?"

"Four new recruits."

"What now?" The blue mech looked uncertain.

"Just wait here. The trainer likes to see new recruits before they offline," another guard laughed. "Waste of time, if you ask me."

* * *

"Hmm... four tank frames, not offline from energon deprivation," Sharpspike's voice boomed. "Who were you working for?"

"Well, we was workin' fer Chopp'r," the rusty mech explained, "but now we've been fired-"

"So we figured here's as good a place as any to start over," the blue mech hastily finished, stepping forwards before the rusty mech could say something that would get them all offlined.

"Excellent. I suppose you already have some skill then?"

"Yeah! When do we start?"

"Right now. Fight each other and I'll see which matches you can join."

The blue mech and the brown mech transformed their servos into weapons, but the rusty mech and the grey mech just lifted their clenched servos.

The blue mech swung his mace, attempting to make it seem like he was trying to offline the other. The brown mech sprang back, narrowly missing the mace.

"I suppose you'll do," the arenamaster muttered. "At least you'll keep the audience entertained... for a few breems."

Sharpspike raised one hand to his helm, calling the announcer over the comms. " _Add the newest recruits to next decaorn's free-for-all._ "

" _What are they called?_ "

"Your designations," Sharpspike asked the blue mech. "What are they?"

The blue mech looked at his companions.

"I am... Ultramarine." The blue mech silently complimented himself on his choice. He was blue and strong, making ultramarine the most suitable option.

"I'm Scythe," the grey one grinned.

"Ah'm rusty."

Sharpspike lifted an optic ridge. "I can see that, but do you really want to be called Rusty?"

"Nah, wait… ah'll be Terrorstrike!"

"One nanoklik." Sharpspike checked the rosters on his HUD. "We already have one. Choose another."

"Uh… Firecracker?"

"That one's taken too."

"E-1337? E-leet?"

"I believe the last bearer of that designation was offlined."

"Eh… beats me! Let someone else decide..."

Sharpspike sent the announcer an audio clip of the exchange.

" _Got it, Boss,_ " the announcer cheerily replied over the comms. " _How does Cosmically Rusting sound?_ "

" _Hmph_." Sharpspike deactivated his comms. "And you?"

The brown mottled mech stepped forward. "Tell 'em ta call me Shadow."

* * *

 _Some Cybertronian units:  
_ _nanoklik - second  
_ _breem - minute  
_ _joor - hour  
_ _orn - day  
_ _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
_ _vorn - year  
_ _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _Thanks for reading!  
_ _~The Voids_


	17. New Recruits

_No matter how powerful the opponent,_

 _How insurmountable the challenge…_

 _There is always a weakness._

* * *

"Two and a half joors to the next match," the announcer's voice boomed through the halls. "Starting off this decaorn's novice matches are… Blueservo and Shinyshell! Place your bets, right this way!"

"Lose now, and the noblemechs won't ever forgive you. Just remember, they're the ones funding this whole arena. If they don't like a mech, that mech's the first to offline." Greyspring dropped his voice to a whisper. "You'd better win, or I won't get paid for training you."

"I see." The red mech grimaced, lining up his pulse rifle again. Even here, energon was all that mattered.

"Oh noes! The shiny mech is going to get his finish scratched!" Terrorstrike laughed, flinging another energon knife at the target. The glowing blade flew in a perfect arc, burying itself deep in the metal surface.

"Why does everymech say it wrong? It's _Spiny_ shell!" An exasperated Shinyshell lifted his crossbow and fired at his target.

The moment before the projectile struck, the doors on the end of the range closed. Instead of hitting the target, the crossbow bolt dented the weaker sheet metal.

"Hahahaha! Yer gonna hafta pay for that! HAHAHA!" Terrorstrike spun around, flinging a knife at the target. The handle hit the target, causing the blade to ricochet into a nearby machine.

"You'll pay for _that_ ," Greyspring boomed, looming over Terrorstrike. "Shinyshell, you owe Sharpspike half a cube. Terrorstrike, you owe ten cubes."

"WHAT? That's an outrage," Terrorstrike shouted, apparently stricken with terror. "Shin- er, Spinyshell, Blueservo, back me up here!"

The red mech grudgingly agreed with Terrorstrike's outburst, though he remained silent. Ten cubes was, admittedly, a lot for any fighter of their caliber to earn.

"Yeah, ten does seem a bit steep." Shinyshell headed for the door, but he turned around at the last moment. His optics sparkled brightly. "Hey, I've got 'n idea! Terrorstrike can move down a rank!"

"Thanks a lot, Shiny," the brown mech grumbled, knowing it would take far longer to regain a lost reputation than to earn ten cubes.

"Hmm… you're right," Greyspring muttered disdainfully, ignoring Terrorstrike's complaint. "Six cubes. And you can mentor the four newest recruits."

" _New recruits_? No way! I'll get the ten cubes," the brown mech hurriedly replied.

"It's final. Besides, you'd be far more suited at training those incompetent scrap heaps for the scrapyard."  
"That- what- argh!" Terrorstrike scowled and went to retrieve the knife from the smoking machine.

* * *

"Ey Ultramarine, how long d'ya figure we've been sittin' here?" The rusty mech looked around at the walls of the waiting room, counting the innumerable bluish scratches in the walls.

"All I know is that it's been far too long." Shadow said, then stood up and moved to the opposite side of the room from the door.

"What are you doing?" Ultramarine watched Shadow impatiently test the ground with a pede.

After a moment of what appeared to be deep thought, Shadow lowered his shoulder and charged at the door. Just moments before he hit solid metal, the barrier slid aside and he crashed into an angry-looking brown mech.

"Hey! How dare you attack me," the new mech shouted. "I am Terrorstrike, scourge of the seven galaxies-" one fist lashed out, striking the slightly-dazed Shadow across the faceplates. "-And you will learn to fear the very sound of my name!"

"Eh? I thought that name was taken." Shadow reset his optics and shook his helm to clear the static from the unexpected blow. "How didya get there, Rust-mech?"

"What?" The rusty mech perked up at Shadow's words. "I'm over here-"

"I AM NOT RUSTED!" A fuming Terrorstrike pulled out an energon knife and swung at Shadow, fully intending to put the other brown mech out of his miserable, worthless existence, but Ultramarine stopped his arm.

"One klik… what're ya here for?"

"I, the mightiest mech in the seven galaxies?" Terrorstrike appeared to calm down slightly once Ultramarine's question registered. "This is but a minor setback in my path to ultimate glory, yet I must teach you how to be better cannon fodder. Not that _I_ would have any experience with such inferior things..."

"Wha's that supposed to mean?" Scythe growled, offended. "We're not cannon fodder!"

"Alright, here's some advice," Terrorstrike grumbled, quickly forming a plan. Chances were, he would be facing at least one of these mechs in the next free-for-all. Since actually helping them train would be rather counterproductive to his own future well-being, he could instead take this opportunity to help himself. "When the match starts, wave at the audience. Spend a good thirty breems waving at the audience. Even if someone attacks you, don't stop waving at the audience. Got it?"

"That seems like a terrible idea," Ultramarine muttered.

"You dare question my words?" Terrorstrike angrily strode up to the blue mech.

"So what kinda wave d'ya want for the audience? This?" The rusty mech stood and pulled out a heavy mace that he promptly attempted to swing.

"What are you doing, _Rustheap_?" Terrorstrike watched as the mace gained speed, moving in an uneven arc around the rusty mech.

"Waving at the audience! They're gonna be all around us, y'know?"

"Terrorstrike, we aren't gonna be _waving_ at the audience, that'll get us offlined faster than attackin' Chopper! Plus we aren't here ta be _cannon fodder_ , as ya seem ta think." Shadow narrowed his optics, taking a threatening step towards the smaller gladiator. "We're here ta earn us some energon, one way or another."

The other three mechs nodded in agreement.

"Fine. You want some real advice?" Terrorstrike crafted his faceplates into what he thought was an incredibly knowledgeable expression. He sized up the four new recruits, quickly turning towards the two he thought looked the weakest. "Rust-mech, Ultramarine, you should definitely fight in the free-for-alls. Shadow, Scythe, don't even think about joining them."

"Ah heard we are all fightin' there," the rusty mech disagreed, looking very confused at Terrorstrike's odd expression. "Uh, what's wrong with yer faceplates? Yer facial motors malfunctioning or something?"

"Wha- there's nothing wrong with my faceplates," the brown gladiator shouted, drawing two energon knives.

* * *

"...What happened?" The green medic seemed absolutely bewildered as he looked between the five battered mechs and Greyspring. Three of the mechs stood together by the door, supporting a fourth. The old gladiator deposited the most damaged mech upon a table. "There weren't any team matches this orn."

"Good question," Greyspring replied. He was positioned between the four new mechs and the damaged brown one. "Found Terrorstrike fighting with the new recruits."

"Those insolent fools dared insult my mighty faceplates," Terrorstrike shouted, attempting to lunge off the examining table. The warped metal around one elbow joint creaked, and he collapsed backwards.

"Sure, sure. Don't move," the green medic warned, turning to his patient. "Your arm's broken, and it looks like your spinal strut is damaged."

"Do not hinder my vengeance." Terrorstrike tried to shove the medic's servos away from his damaged limb. He tried to sit, but his legs twitched erratically instead of obeying his processor's commands. "They must pay!"

"So it's _our_ fault?" Shadow's equally angry growl would have been a lot more menacing if he had been able to stand without Scythe's support. " _You're_ the one who attacked Rusty."

"Yeah!" The rusty mech's servo pressed over a long, shallow gash on the opposite arm. Energon sluggishly trailed from the wound as he shook his helm in confusion. "No idea why."

"Well, you're all going to need repairs." The medic sighed. "Who's first?"

"Me," Terrorstrike instantly snapped. One knife vanished into subspace as a partially full mini-cube appeared in his servo. "Half a cube?"

"Your repairs are going to cost a little more than that," the medic said, frowning. The brown gladiator's broken limb would be an easy enough fix, but the damaged spinal strut would likely require a fairly expensive replacement.

"I'll pay one for all of us," Ultramarine offered, glancing at his comrades. He unsubspaced a normal-sized energon cube.

"Alright," the medic agreed, picking up a welding torch. Most of the recruits' injuries were clean slashes from the brown gladiator's energon knives.

Greyspring glanced at Terrorstrike's wounds before turning to the four recruits. "You clearly know how to put on a good show. You can join the fights once you get repaired."

"Great." The rusty mech looked mildly excited, though his expression could have been relief that the medic turned off his pain receptors.

"There's surveillance in the holding room," Greyspring added. "Sharpspike doesn't like his fighters brawling outside of matches, but your punishment won't be as severe if the audience enjoys the security footage. "

* * *

"Five breems until the next match," the announcer shouted. "Featuring Blueservo and Shinyshell. Don't miss this limited opportunity to place your bets!"

"If we stage the match, neither of us will get hurt, _and_ we could split the energon." Shinyshell waved his servos around excitedly. He was still convinced that his idea would work. "No matter who loses, we'd both get a share!"

"No." The red mech stared at Shinyshell disbelievingly. He had known the other fighter was a bit naïve, but… split the energon? Had he taken a hit to the helm? "That energon's mine."

Silence filled the small room.

"Two breems-" the announcer's voice echoed through the arena.

"C'mon! It'll work," Shinyshell assured him. "Just pull some really fancy moves and let me beat you-"

"Not happening." Chances were, if he agreed to lose, Shinyshell would just keep all the energon.

"Or- or you could beat me." A pleading note entered the shiny gladiator's voice. "Just make it last for a while, so the audience is happy... and use lots of fancy, impossible moves-"

"You're entering from the other side of the arena," the red mech interrupted, sliding his visor into place. The idea might have merit, but time was short. "You'd better hurry before the-"

"One breem," the announcer cheerily boomed. "Take your seats, mechs!"

"-match starts," the red mech finished, pointedly motioning towards the door.

"It'll help both of our popularity ratings," Shinyshell called, dashing away.

"Proudly presenting our old champion, Shinyshell! Renvad Paints is glad to fix your plating with polish that will display your fine inner character!"

Shinyshell dashed into the arena, looking relieved that he had entered in time.

The crowd's cheering was so loud that the announcer had to wait a few nanokliks for it to die down.

"And our recent undermechdog, Blueservo, still sporting the rusty but trusty tech of the last great war! Cyrek's Antiques sells the best, most _authentic_ ancient weaponry on Cybertron!"

The red mech stepped out into the ring, lifting his blue servo and turning in a full circle before crouching down in a ready position.

"Let's get some bets now that you see the contestants! Starting in five! Four!"

The crowd took up the chant.

"Three! Two! One! FIGHT!"

Shinyshell ran towards the red mech, lifting his crossbow. He fired off two bolts, but his aim had either rapidly deteriorated - highly unlikely, considering his excellent scores in the shooting range - or he was purposefully missing the red mech.

The red mech was prepared to scan his opponent's frame for weaknesses, but the two shots diverted his attention.

The instant the two projectiles left the crossbow, the red mech's linear prediction algorithms analyzed their trajectories… and calculated that both would miss.

Perhaps Shinyshell really did intend to go through with staging the fight. However, the mech needed to be certain before he let his guard down.

He decided to test Shinyshell's motives by charging forward slowly. The decreased speed was less practical than normal fighting, but it also reduced the mech's energy expenditures.

Shinyshell swung at him, narrowly missing the red mech's side.

The surprised red mech noted that, even if Shinyshell had hit his mark, the light blow would not have caused significant damage. Both mechs ran at each other, barely avoiding each other.

The red mech spun around at the other side of the arena and skidded to a halt on one knee.

He paused in a semi-kneeling position, tilting his helm towards Shinyshell. A black visor met orange optics, and he gave the other fighter a curt nod.

* * *

Some Cybertronian units:  
nanoklik - second  
breem - minute  
joor - hour  
orn - day  
decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week  
vorn - year  
megavorn - 1,000,000 years  
mini-cube - 1/4 of a standard cube

Thanks for reading!  
~The Voids


	18. Stage Fight

_Fighting, acting - what does it matter if the audience can't tell the difference?_

* * *

With every elaborate attack and artful dodge of the two fighting mechs, the cheering rose in volume. The audience members roared and stamped their pedes, enraptured by the two gladiators' continuing fight. A few daring mechs even leaned over the edges of the arena for a better view.

The red mech charged at Shinyshell, leaping into the air at the last moment. A slight boost from one thruster sent him spinning, and he swung one pede outward in a completely impractical flying spiral-kick. It was a blatant waste of fuel, but he figured that the pleased audience would continue spending energon on the betting pools or promotional offers as the match went on.

Shinyshell dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding the red mech's attack. He retreated with a quick series of backflips that carried him across the arena.

Both mechs lifted their ranged weaponry, each nodding at the other the tiniest bit. Shinyshell's crossbow bolt flew true, shooting towards its intended target - the nozzle to the red mech's laser pulse rifle. At precisely the right moment, the red mech fired a laser pulse directly into the already heated projectile.

The crossbow bolt absorbed the laser pulse's energy, turning into a blob of molten metal. A vibroblade slashed sideways just as the molten projectile shot past. The superheated crossbow bolt erupted in a glowing spray as the gleaming blade deflected metal droplets in every direction.

The crowd went wild as, for an instant, the red mech was haloed in a glittering cloud.

"Ooh! For lightning-fast reflexes and that perfect aim, Gyron training facilities is still accepting students!"

The metal droplets scorched the red mech's paint wherever they hit, but he steeled himself against the slight stinging sensation. In the past, he had endured far worse pains for the promise of far less energon.

* * *

Four and a half joors later, the red mech's fuel levels were starting to dwindle. The dramatic staged match was burning less energy than normal fights, but the constant activity was still tiring. At the beginning of the fight, his tanks were around half full; now, they were approaching thirty percent capacity. He would have ended the match sooner, but the audience seemed pleased. That - hopefully - meant he would receive more cubes when he won.

Shinyshell drew his arm back, as though winding up for a mighty punch.

The red mech fired up his thrusters in preparation. When Shinyshell brought his arm forward in a slow, showy punch, the red mech dramatically doubled over, catching the servo, and launched himself backward.

"Another mighty punch from Shinyshell! If you want to experience a stronger frame, stop by the Lower Iacon Relinquishment Clinic for a limited-time offer!"

Shinyshell finished with his fist raised. The crowd _ooh_ ed and _aah_ ed as the the red mech propelled himself away, doing his very best to appear as though the punch had thrown him across the arena. His frame eventually hit one of the arena doors with a soft, painless clatter. He easily landed on his pedes and adopted an overexaggerated battle stance.

"Hey, is this door jammed?" A muffled voice shouted through the heavy door behind the mech. "Did the match start already?"

The red mech heard nothing, for his audio receptors were offline. It was only practical in any match, staged or otherwise, to preserve the functionality of said audio receptors by deactivating them. However, the flight sensors in his wingtips picked up a few slight vibrations from the metal surface. The whole arena was probably just vibrating due to the overexcited audience's pounding pedes. In any case, he ignored the slight buzzing, instead focusing on planning his next move.

"I think they're tryin' ta open th' door from the oth'r side," another voice shouted. "We should help!"

The red mech noticed the vibration again, but this time he half-turned to glance at its source. The faint buzz was larger this time, and it held a distinct modulation that pounding pedes definitely lacked.

On the other side of the arena, an unaware Shinyshell sprang toward the red mech in a series of flashy cartwheels. The maneuver left his entire torso open to laserfire, but the red mech only loosed a few poorly-aimed pulses that flew far over his opponent's head.

A heavy blow struck the door behind the red mech, though the reinforced metal stubbornly refused to deform beyond a slight dent.

Alarmed by the unexpected blow, the red mech lunged into action again. He dashed towards the still-cartwheeling Shinyshell, lifting his arms to unbalance the spiky mech. Shinyshell leaped at him, pushing off of the red mech's upraised servo. He flipped over and landed behind the flyer, striking a dramatic pose when his pedes touched the ground once more.

Just outside the arena, four new fighters fidgeted impatiently before an unyielding door. Scythe rammed the sheet metal again, but the door refused to dent any more than it had over the many previous times that he had rammed it. "Not working!"

Ultramarine thought for a nanoklik. "These doors have a control panel, right?" His searching claws soon plunged into the panel. He tried poking at a few combinations of buttons, but nothing happened. "It's sealed shut."

Scythe punched the panel, causing a shower of sparks to burst from the damaged circuitry. A sliver of light appeared at one side of the door, and Scythe roughly helped it open the rest of the way.

"Not anymore!"

In the arena, the red mech spun to face Shinyshell just as four new fighters appeared in the corner of his vision. They streamed into arena, swinging extremely dented weapons. His memory banks quickly identified them as some of Chopper's guards, though what they were doing in the arena was anybot's guess. He brought his medical scanners online, searching for weak spots on their heavily armored frames.

"What the-" The announcer quickly recovered from his surprise. "Introducing some new fighters! Uh," he paused to glance at the names scrolling past his optics, "Ultramarine, Scythe, Shadow, and - last but not least - Cosmically, comedically, and cosmetically rusting… Rustheap!"

The crowd's screaming increased to a point where even the red mech's flight sensors were tingling uncomfortably. Shinyshell visibly winced from the intensity of the noise, but he followed the red mech's intent gaze to the four new arrivals.

Shinyshell stepped toward the red mech, lifting both optic ridges. One spiky arm gesticulated wildly. He seemed to be saying something, but the red mech could not make out a single word. The red mech glanced at the newcomers and back to Shinyshell, shrugging his wings.

Suddenly Shinyshell seemed to remember the crowd, and he clenched one servo into a fist. He pointed to the red mech, then himself, then spread his digits at the newcomers in a questioning motion.

"Team!" The audience gradually shifted the modulation of their cheering from unintelligible screams to a unified chant. "Team! Team!"

Across the arena, the rusty newcomer spun in a circle, grinning and waving his mace at the crowd.

"It looks like Blueservo and Shinyshell are too evenly matched! Get your bets in for these two fighters against the new scrapheaps!"

In an undertone that was nevertheless audible throughout the arena, the announcer added, "they deserve what's coming for them, those blundering imbeciles! Who do they think they are, breaking in on a match unannounced?"

The red mech unsheathed his vibroblade, simultaneously powering up his laser pulse rifle. The staged match was over; now, the fight was real. Either he would defeat Chopper's guards, or they would offline him… or worse, drag him back to the rotary's tender mercies.

On the other side of the arena, Rustheap continued waving at the audience, oblivious to the red mech's murderous intentions. He thought he was doing quite well at it, too, until Shinyshell's crossbow bolt grazed his waving arm.

"Ooh, did that scratch his paint? Oh wait, he had none!" The announcer's chuckle was somehow audible over the crowd's roaring. "Paint is an essential part of a mech! The rustic look went out of style megavorns ago. Luckily for you, Star Industries has finished developing a new paint formula that will last twice as long as previous coats!"

The red mech charged forward before the announcer finished speaking. His scans had identified Scythe's frametype as the strongest, most durable, and slowest of the four former guards. The large grounder's stance, though aggressive, was also the most unsuitable for fighting quick-moving opponents. However, his armor was thick enough to repel most direct attacks.

At the last moment, the red mech twisted sideways, firing his laser cutter on its widest setting as he darted past. As expected, the unfocused beam flashed over Scythe's armor too quickly to do more than heat the metal… but that was enough. Before the grounder could register the localized change in temperature, the mech spun around and stabbed his vibroblade into the faintly glowing line on Scythe's side. The blade punched through the softened metal, slicing through reinforced plating and into the delicate wires beneath.

Scythe's arm struck the red mech a moment later, throwing him halfway across the arena, but the damage was done. A deep gash in the large grounder's side glowed blue with energon, and he appeared to have difficulty moving one leg. The red mech's target - the motor relays in Scythe's side - were partially severed.

"The first injury!" The announcer chortled with glee as Scythe furiously limped towards the red mech. "To get repairs for that, only one place can restore you to your former glory. Swindle's Universal Emporium and Services is opening a new shop in Iacon! Get new parts at record deals! Uh, costs extra for services."

The crowd's cheering increased, though they were likely more excited by Scythe's angry advancement than the announcement.

Though he had hit the ground hard, the red mech wasted no time regaining his pedes and springing back into action. There were several dents in his armor, and part of his dorsal sensor suite was offline, but he immediately started charging his laser pulse rifle. Fresh energon slowly trickled from Scythe's side; if the red mech could ignite it, he could put the grounder out of commission for a while.

Glancing to the side, the red mech noticed Shinyshell currently being tag-teamed by Ultramarine, Shadow, and Rustheap. Satisfied that no one would interfere in the immediate future, he carefully leveled his arm at the charging grounder's side.

A faint warmth spread through his right arm as the rifle reached maximum charge and started to overheat. Scythe was almost upon the red mech, but he needed to wait for the perfect moment to fire-

There. Scythe lifted his arm to deliver another mighty punch. Moments before the fist struck comparatively thinner plating, the red mech fired the laser pulse.

An energon explosion pushed Scythe backwards slightly. He grimaced faintly, but regained his balance without much fuss. The wound in his side, while blackened and significantly larger than before, was no longer leaking energon.

Scythe lunged forward triumphantly, forcing the red mech to leap backwards to avoid the attacking grounder.

The red mech's scans pinpointed the few recently-fused wires that enabled Scythe to walk properly again. He quickly loosed a low-intensity laser pulse into the gash in his opponent's armor. It reduced the fused wires to a molten spatter, sending Scythe to the ground. The newcomer's legs twitched uncontrollably, now independent of his processor's commands, and sparks erupted from beneath his armor as his vital systems short-circuited.

Now that the red mech's most immediate threat was disabled, he turned to check on the others. One opponent was down, but there were a few more to go. The red mech charged up his rifle again and dashed across the arena to assist his teammate. With two fighters against three, the odds were almost even.

* * *

 _Some Cybertronian units:_

 _nanoklik - second_

 _breem - minute_

 _joor - hour_

 _orn - day_

 _decaorn - 10 orns / 1 week_

 _vorn - year_

 _megavorn - 1,000,000 years_

 _mini-cube - 1/4 of a standard cube_

 _Thanks for reading!_

 _~The Voids_


End file.
